Wandering Stars
by Molly Myles
Summary: Heavy with the weight of his sins, fearful of that which seeks to control him, Castiel leaves Heaven behind for the last time, in the most final way that he can. Heaven is hunting him, and there are only two people on Earth he can trust. But will it be enough to save his life? References to 8x10 Torn and Frayed. T for language and themes (story with a side of Destiel)
1. Chapter 1

~*~*~*~Prologue~*~*~*~

_Please could you stay a while to share my grief,_

_It's such a lovely day to have to always feel this way_

_And the time when I will suffer less,_

_Is when I never have to wake_

_Those who have seen the needles I now tread_

_Like a husk, from which all that was now fled_

_Always doubled up inside, take a while to shed my grief,_

_Doubled up inside, taunted, cruel_

_Wandering stars, for whom it is reserved,_

_The blackness of darkness forever_

__[XXXXXX]

Standing at the lip of the precipice, gazing down at the blue-green, slightly oblong orb below, he began to have second thoughts.

The wind whipped mercilessly at the ends of his long coat, seeking purchase to draw him down, to throw him from his perch at the top of that wonderous, beautiful world, to cast him away from everything he had known and into the embrace of everything he had come to love.

That is what he had wanted, wasn't it?

Standing on this ledge, the brink between two worlds- one of sterile order, the other of beautiful chaos, he knew what had made up his mind. He could recall the weight of the blade, the slight resistance as it had pierced flesh, his brother's lifeblood spilling over his hands.

He felt the hot wetness on his face as the tears came unbidden. _I am sorry I could not save you, _he thought to himself, though he knew that his hand had been forced. He knew that she had been the one to force it. He knew that once he stepped forward, the weight of his brother's death would be his own once more, and _she _would be forgotten.

"Wait," a voice called from behind him. "Don't."

He turned to see his brother, one of the few left alive that he could call so with near trust, the young face he wore now aged as it contorted in confusion and anguish, revealing the ancient being within. All he could offer in return was a sad, fleeting smile.

"Why," Inias pleaded. "Why here, in this place, where he himself was cast down?"  
"Perhaps," he said in response, his throat tightening in effort to keep the words from reaching his lips. "Perhaps one day you will know. I do sincerely hope that you do."

The confusion on Inias' face deepened, then turned to horror half glimpsed as he turned away from his questioning brother and stepped forward, his foot catching on nothing as gravity caught him at last in its unforgiving grasp. His resolve wavered at the last moment, but it was already too late for second thoughts. Far too late to step back.

At first it was peaceful, completely soundless, and his first sensation was weightlessness. It was not like flying, but the feeling was similar, suspended above the expanse that seemed for the time being to draw no closer.

He would not unfurl his wings if he could. This was what he had chosen.

After a brief eternity the details began to come clear, the definition of the surfaces of land becoming visible against the hues of rust and green, the friction of molecules of carbon, oxygen, helium, elements that made up the breathable atmosphere as he plummeted through it, sent a wild stroke of panic through him as he felt his flesh warming- not the warmth of sitting in the sun on a clear Summer day, but the very fire of the sun itself. He pulled his wings around himself, his Grace shielding him from the contrasting vacuous cold and searing heat from the particles as he rushed through them.

A far worse sensation, he realised, was that he could feel his Grace burning away with the fall, brittle and finite against the incredible heat the rapid passage of his mass created.

_This is what it is meant to fall_, he thought, gritting his teeth through the pain that seemed to rack every cell of his vessel. No. His body. It was no longer merely a vessel, and hadn't been for some time.

He had time to reflect on that as he watched a familiar continent lose its edges to the expanse. When his sister had fallen, she had done so in her True form, tearing away her Grace as she fell. He wondered idly, albeit far too late, how it would affect him, bound within this frail human form that had withstood so much, but only at the benefit of his Grace reinforcing it.

Everything was happening so rapidly now. He had barely registered that he could no longer feel the fire that had torn at his wings as he saw the town approach.

The ringing that had been persistently growing over the last several minutes reached such a pitch that he could feel when it broke, warm fluid filling his ears as the dark ground rose up to welcome him.

He had hoped that the lake would meet his arrival, but instead found himself crashing dizzily into an old wooden shed, thankfully empty as his body crashed through it, obliterating it in the process. The impact tore away what remained of his already heavily damaged Grace, shattering it along with the splintered wood. He felt the remnants of his wings break apart in the small, concussive blast that followed, leaving him in darkness and pain as the world stilled around him.

And thus Castiel, angel of Thursday, fell from Heaven.

Quite literally.

(_Wandering Star _copyright Portishead 1994 from the album Dummy. I don't know how this licensed material BS works, so there you go. I didn't write the lyrics, but they're pretty- just covering my ass :P


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel wondered idly if he had shot straight through the Earth and right into Hell. Every inch of his being ached and he was vaguely aware of something burning. He couldn't remember why he had decided to do this and the revelation bothered him immensely.

More urgently, he realised that he felt the pain more acutely through his vessel than any he had ever felt before. He was instantly overwhelmed by a cornucopia of new sensations. He felt hunger, which he found ridiculous given his state. He recalled the feeling from the effect that Famine had on his vessel during their encounter with the Horseman during the Apocalypse. Confusion he identified as well, not unknown to him but immensely powerful, far more intense than he had ever experienced. Relief furthered his confusion. Why would he feel relieved, when he did not know where he was or what precisely had happened? Fear. No, this was stronger than mere fear. It was the yellow bile of terror that crept up the back of his throat. He felt all these things and more, so many other _emotions _that he found he could not define.

But above all else, there was pain. And fear.

He tried to move, to pull himself out of the hole he now found himself in, and discovered he could not. He reached for his Grace, only to find that it was gone. Fear turned to panic.

He became vaguely aware of something near him, whimpering pathetically. A pitiful, wounded thing. He focused on the sound and curiosity turned to horror as he discovered that _he _was the source of that sound.

Again he tried to move. With determination, fighting back the urge to curl into himself at the pain that radiated through his battered form, he managed with slow progression to pull himself to the edge of the crater that he was vaguely aware he himself had created.

It was then that he felt a pair of strong hands grip him tight, power radiating from them as he was pulled out of the hole, laying him gently in the soft grass beneath the waning half moon.

He felt a familiar crackle of energy pass over and through him as two gently fingers pressed lightly against the flesh above his left eye, sweeping away much of the pain and leaving a dull, throbbing ache in its wake.

Chancing to open his eyes, he saw a vaguely familiar face above him, the expression of worry and sadness seeming alien on the entirely human face. He could not see through to the being he knew should lay within.

"Inias..." his voice felt like molasses trying to fight it's way to his lips, his throat a column of jagged ice that protested the sound with a dull burst of fire.

"You cannot remain here, brother," Inias breathed. "Human authorities will be arriving shortly."

There was something off about his brother's voice, something unheard that should be heard, and he was acutely aware of the sadness in his borrowed eyes.

He could not _see _Inias. He could not _hear _Inias. He saw and heard only the form and words of his brother's vessel.

Slowly, as he felt himself lifted once more, he recalled the sensation of free-falling, of plummeting.

A single syllable word came to the forefront as his mind fluttered above the abyss of unconsciousness.

"Dean," he breathed. And then everything was cool darkness.

[XXXXXX]

Dean sat at the small, green formica dinette table in the tiny, yellow-tiled kitchen of the motel room he was currently sharing with his brother. They were between jobs right now, holed up in the small town of Bothel, Washington, where two days ago they had taken out a small nest of glitter-wearing-goth college kids who had somehow gotten involved with a real vampire.

Sam had gone to the diner a few blocks down the road, and Dean was certainly not on his brother's laptop in the sasquatch's absence, nor was he currently logged in to Busty Asian Beauties dot com.

The last month had not been a great one, though it had had a few highlights (Sam was still teasing him for aping on Braveheart). Between time-traveling douchebag car thieves, demon knights, witches, fairies and, oh yeah- having your socially retarded angel friend gank his buddy on top of your car and going missing.

_But at least you and Sam are talking_, he thought to himself with a bitter sense of mixed irony.

Needless to say, it startled Dean when he heard the familiar sound of wings, accompanied by the sense that someone was now crowding his personal space, directly behind him.

With a huff that was more irritated than he really felt, being actually glad to hear from Castiel again after their troubling goodbye following Operation Rescue Alfie, he slammed the laptop's screen down, closing it.

"Dammit, Cas," he growled half heartedly. "I freaking told yo-"

The sight he took in when he turned to face his angelic bubble-violator was not the one he had expected, nor was it one he had particularly wanted to see.

It was another flying ass-money, wearing a thirty-ish blonde guy with shoulder-length hair and kind of weasely features in the typical black suit favoured by the legions of Heaven's crack team of lawyers and holy tax accountants. Had he met this one before? He vaguely remembers. Just over a year ago, one of Cas' allies who had helped them with the prophet Kevin.

The angel appeared distressed, and rightly so given what he was carrying in his arms. Something that Dean was not quite prepared to look at. Something bloody and battered and either unconscious or dead, wearing the tattered remains of a black suit and beige trench coat.

Dean held the lost-looking angel's eyes for a long moment, keeping his face a mask of unreadable stone as he mentally prepared himself, fearing the worst at the memory of when he had last seen his best friend.

Slowly, he allowed his eyes to lower to the angel's arms, inhaling sharply as the sight came as a nearly physical blow.

Castiel looked as though he had been fed through a wood chipper, burned, buried, dug up and then dragged down several miles of gravel road. It seemed as though every square inch of his body was covered in blood from numerous cuts and scrapes, though none that Dean could see appeared to be too serious or life threatening on their own. His clothes were all but completely destroyed, scorched, leaving him only barely above the 'modest' line.

"Please," said the guest angel whose name was still eluding the hunter. "He trusts you. Please, keep him safe."

Dean couldn't think. Cas had to still be alive, otherwise the angel wouldn't have brought him here, right? He couldn't find the words, so he just nodded and pointed to his bed.

"Thank you," said the angel with the name that started with an I (or was it an A?), laying Castiel where Dean had indicated and giving his unconscious brother a sad, fond look before turning to Dean.

"My name is Inias," the angel said quietly. Dean mentally congratulated himself. He knew it started with an I. "I was able to heal the most severe of his injuries, though unfortunately I am unable to do more. Please look after my brother."

Dean didnt miss the shift in Inias' eyes.

"Woah, back up a sec," he said, sweeping his arms in a motion indicating 'time-out'. "You don't think you should maybe give a bit more explanation? Like, I dunno, what the _hell_ happened to Cas?!"

Inias drew himself up to his full height, staring Dean down. "What has happened to Castiel is of his own doing. He will require your protection. I have done all that I can, and now I must return before I am missed, which I assure you would only bring you further trouble."

Dean blinked as the angel promptly vanished the instant he was done chewing Dean out.

Dean shook his head and looked over to where to Mr. Comatose had settled in to his bed, then took out his phone, hitting the speed dial as he reached down to check the angel's pulse- not that he was sure that meant anything, really.

"Yeah, I got your stupid pie," The voice on the other end of the line answered on the third ring.

"Sammy," Dean cut in. "Got more important things going on here than pie at the moment."

There was a long, deafening silence on the other end. Long enough that Dean had to check the phone's screen to be sure the call hadn't dropped. "Sammy?"

"I'm almost back. Should I come in prepared?"

"No," Dean sighed. "But Cas is here."

More silence from his brother.

Dean swallowed, looking down at the bed. "He's in pretty bad shape, Sammy. One of his angel buddies just dropped him off. Just... get here quick, okay? I'm gonna need some help."

"Yeah," Sam said after another long pause. "Yeah, okay. See you in a few minutes."

Dean tossed the phone down on the nightstand between the two beds, sitting carefully on the edge of the one Cas currently occupied, running a hand over his face, watching the wounded angel like a hawk until his brother got back.

[XXXXXX]

Sam had gotten back to the motel in record time. Dropping the bags containing their dinner unceremoniously on the table as he came in, he began to take stock of what he saw in the room.

Dean had pulled out the emergency first aid kit and was in the process of cleaning the unconscious angel's wounds.

Sam had to admit the angel looked to be in a pretty sorry state, and he assumed from his general appearance that the blood covering him was probably his own.

"Jesus, Dean," Sam breathed as the full weight of the scene settled over him. "What the hell happened to him?"

"Dunno," Dean didn't even look at his brother as he answered. "His friend Inias dropped him off just before I called you. Said he needed our protection."

"You think maybe Heaven's got it in for him again," Sam asked. "Another Raphael, maybe?"

"I dunno, Sammy, but these wounds are sticking. He's not, you know, mojoing himself better."

Sam frowned, wondering what could be preventing Castiel's Grace from healing him.

"Guess we'll ask him when he wakes up."

Dinner for the moment forgotten, Sam moved to the side of the bed opposite his brother and assisted in patching up their injured friend.

The awkward part was when Sam had insisted they cut away Castiel's ruined suit. Dean had protested that they should wait until Cas was awake, but Sam won the argument in the end and they had put the angel in a pair of Dean's sweats and an old van Halen t-shirt.

When they had done everything they could think to do for their friend, they covered the angel with both of the thin blankets from their beds and sat at the table, picking at their food but neither particularly interested in eating at the moment, watching over Castiel in nervous silence.

"What if he-" Sam began, cut off by an angry look from Dean.

"He _will_," Dean growled, leaving no room for argument. "He'll be _fine_. Son of a bitch always is."

Sam placed the lid back over his salad, moving back out to the main area to check on the wounded angel. Dean found himself irritated by Sam's initiative, tearing furiously into his burger, gnawing out his frustrations on the half pound of cooked red meat.

"Hey," Sam said once he was satisfied that Castiel hadn't gotten any worse. "I'm going to run to the store and grab some stuff. You need anything?"

Dean just waved him off, cleaning up his mess and wandering over to the television.

"Right," Sam said, shrugging off Dean's douchy response. "Ill just, uh, I'll be back in about an hour."

"Peace," Dean confirmed that he had heard his brother.

Once Dean heard the roar of the Impala's engine, however, he went to Cas' side. He wasn't sure why he'd gotten pissed at Sam, but whatever. He'd get over it.

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching Castiel's shallow but steady breathing. It didn't seem right to see Cas look so broken and beat up. Aside from right at the end of the Apocalypse, when the dude had lost his mojo, he'd rarely ever seen Cas _blink_, let alone sleep. Those depthless, complex blue eyes should be open, damn it.

Dean wiped at his face with the sleeve of his flannel. He was certainly _not _having a chick flick moment over his best friend. And he definitely wasn't so worried he was crying about it.

[XXXXXX]

He found himself in a strange, white place, one that he knew, but couldn't say what it was or where. He felt himself drowning in that sterile, white room. He saw her eyes, cold, emotionless, merciless as she cut into him. He stood in front fo the door, listening to his brother's tormented screams. He froze, something about the white... standing in front of him, the blade was in his... rivulets of scarlet against pale flesh... Grace burned as the blood... Watched the light go out of his brother's eyes... (stop.) Heaven compromised... (No.) Felt the blood wash over his hand... (Stop it!) Self defense... (Please!) face devoid of life...

"SAMANDRIEL! NO!"

Something was weighing him down, covering him, something hot and suffocating that wouldn't let off no matter how much he fought it.

He felt the weight lifted away suddenly, a sudden, brilliant light piercing his eyes and forcing him to turn away from the sudden pain that accompanied it. _Naomi, _his mind insisted. _She's caught up to me..._

"Who's caught up to you, Cas?" The voice was familiar, threadbare and whiskey soaked... and comforting.

As his eyes adjusted to the lamp light, Castiel could see Dean's face come slowly into focus as he rode out the waves of panic from his strange, tormented vision.

"Cas," Dean said again, startling the angel into attention with a sharp snap of his fingers inches from Castiel's face. "Hey, you okay? You with us?"

Castiel tried to put his thoughts into focus, but every time he attempted to do so they flitted away like frightened birds. He felt stiff, and his mind felt dull and muddy and he didn't understand why he felt so faint. It frightened him that his respiratory and cardiovascular functions seemed to have increased exponentially, and he had no idea how to bring his body back under his control.

"Dean," Sam's voice. Sam was standing behind his brother, his eyes wide and concerned, frightened. Frightened of him? Frightened _for _him? Castiel couldn't think. "Dean, back up- give him some space, I think he's... hyperventilating..."

Dean gave his brother a disapproving look, but did as he was told. Or, at least, he tried to, before Castiel- afraid that the hunter would leave- reached out and snatched Dean's arm and pulled him back.

"Okay, Dean said, looking disconcerted. "Okay, Cas, I'm right here. You're okay, you... I think you just had a nightmare..."

"N-nightmare..." Castiel rolled the word off his tongue. Even when he had slept, when he had been cut off from heaven, or on the occasion that he had been injured to the point of requiring rest, he had never dreamed, let alone had nightmares. This was frighteningly new to him.

"Yeah," Dean said, glancing again to his brother.

Sam sat down at the foot of the bed, watching Castiel closely.

"Cas," The younger hunter said softly, a tone one might use to sooth a frightened child. "... What happened to you?"

Castiel frowned, looking down at his hands. He found that his breathing was becoming easier, less rushed, and that the pounding beat of his heart was no longer deafening in his ears.

He averted his eyes from the hunters, the two humans that he cared most for and called his friends, and who had called him as such even when he had been at his absolute worst.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply to calm his racing nerves.

"I... fell."

He hated the way his voice broke on the words, like so much brittle glass.

(So this came to me at work today, and I furiously wrote it all down as it came spilling out of the depths of my brain. What do you think? I probably won't update this one as frequently as my main AU, Ride the Lightning, but there will likely be at least one update a week. I have plenty of ideas for this story, they're just going to take a little time to organize.)


	3. Chapter 3

Dean wasn't quite sure that he had heard Castiel correctly. Those two words hung in the air like nukes, hot and ready to blow open a can of worms he wasn't entirely sure he was ready for.

"You fell," Dean repeated. "Into what, a pile of rusty knives? What do you mean _you fell_?"

Castiel didn't look at either of them, his eyes ruefully fixed on the gaudy floral print of the thin, pilled motel blanket, hand still lightly clamped on Dean's forearm just above his wrist.

It was a little after four in the morning. Dean had pulled up a chair to sit beside the bed and keep an eye on the battered angel that had been so abruptly delivered back into their lives with the predictably vague order from Inias to protect him.

At some point, maybe an hour or two before, Dean had nodded off with his head lolled against the backrest as he slouched.

He had woken to an odd sound, put off at first by the odd position he had found himself in, not immediately remembering how he had gotten into the chair, or why he was there, seated beside the bed instead of _in _it. Then he saw the shape beneath the covers, tossing lightly in a restless sleep under the faint glow of the security light that filtered through the room's curtains.

He pulled himself upright, watching Castiel, listening to the plaintive whimpers that punctuated each movement, heard the angel occasionally murmur a half spoken negative or something that the hunter was vaguely aware must be Enochian. He was curiously disturbed by the scene. He had rarely seen the angel show anything akin to emotion. Passion, yes- passion in battle, sometimes anger, faith, devotion- but this was new, and it kind of scared the shit out of him. What had happened to Castiel that was so horrible to cause _this_?

He found himself wanting to move to the restless lump of bruised and broken flesh, to put his arms around this broken celestial creature if only it would stop what he was seeing and hearing now. It tore him in two, what he was feeling, watching his best friend suffer not-so-silently with whatever nightmare was currently plaguing him.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Castiel screamed, thrashing suddenly beneath the blankets and only succeeding in tangling himself further in the heavy, frayed cloth.

"SAMANDRIEL! NO!"

Dean's breath caught in his throat, and he was dimly aware that Sam was now awake, as well, reaching over and struggling for a moment with the switch that sent light blazing through the room.

"What the," his brother muzzled out thickly.

Dean got up, pulling the blankets off of his panicking friend as gently and quickly as he could manage, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting a hand on Castiel's shoulder, looking down at him as the worry inched its way through him.

Something stabbed his gut as Castiel jerked his head away from the sudden light, raising his hands as though to ward an attack. Dean strained to hear the half mumbled words tumbling out of the angel's mouth- "_she's caught up to me.."_

"Who's caught up to you, Cas?"

He saw the wide, frightened blue eyes turn toward him. For a pained moment, Dean thought that the look in those eyes lacked recognition, and his heart tried to claw its way up into his throat.

The next few moments were tense as he watched Castiel struggle in vain to calm himself from the remnants of whatever nightmare he had been having. Dean was relieved when his fears had been assuaged- Castiel did remember them, but he didn't seem to be aware of how he had come to be in the motel room with them. No one brought it up, but Dean could see the confusion in his eyes, not knowing where he was, but content that he was safe, evidenced by the fact he had finally slowed his breathing and calmed himself to the point of merely looking tired and miserable.

And then Castiel had spoken those two, broken words that had stilled the room to an uncomfortable silence. _I... fell. _There was a weight to them that Dean knew meant he didn't mean _literally_, but then, looking at the state of the man that sat, trembling from trauma and fear and God knew what else was running through his mind, Dean had to wonder if it wasn't just a figure of speech.

He almost smiled when Castiel narrowed his eyes, stilling for a moment to give the hunter one of his trademark looks. It was comforting to see the hard, steely look there, to forget the trembling mess of cuts and bruises that had been in its place moments before and negating how small and frail Cas looked in his old, tattered t-shirt.

The moment didn't last long, however, the hard edge melting away into something melancholy and so fundamentally broken that Dean had to turn away, seeking solace in his brother to gather his nerve before he could face Castiel again.

"That," the angel said, his tone measured. "May have been more pleasant."

"So," Sam was working it out as he spoke. Sam always was the smart one, Dean thought to himself, while he was the stubborn one. Dean knew it was right there, but he was adamantly pushing it away. "Like, you're cut off again? Like when you helped us before?"

Dean could hear the stain of guilt in his brother's voice, and realised he felt it too. If Castiel had been cut off again, attacked by his own kind as he had been when he fought at their side during the Apocalypse, Dean wasn't sure if he could forgive himself again. Hell, he still felt guilty for what Cas went through the last time.

"No," Castiel said simply.

"No?" Dean raised an eyebrow, waiting for the rest.

The angel- no, former-angel, Dean corrected himself, looked up at Dean, his throat working as his eyes kept trying to move away, forced back to the hunter's own by sheer force of stubborn will.

It was a long moment before anyone spoke, and the silence felt tangible to the hunter.

"To be... 'cut off'," Castiel broke the silence, accentuating the term with finger-quotes that almost, _almost _made Dean crack a smile if this wasn't so messed up, if he wasn't so concerned. "Is a punishment, meted out by Heaven. To fall..."

Castiel looked away again, biting his lip.

"It was a choice," Sam finished, his voice strained and tinged awed.

Castiel only nodded.

"So," Sam continued the train of thought. Dean was sure his mind was travelling to the last time they'd encountered a 'fallen' angel, Anna Milton. But this wasn't the same. Cas was still Cas, just... "you're human."

Dean felt the heat rise from the pit of his stomach, angry and again not really sure why. Why would Cas do this to himself? Sure, he'd turned his back on Heaven, but he had seemed content just to sort of drift with the wind until now. Did it have something to do with Alfie? Was he again punishing himself for something that Dean trusted was beyond his control? Sure it was pretty fucked up, and he was worried there was more going on than Castiel had said- but that was mostly because the angel had seemed so out of sorts after he had killed Samandriel. Oh, and the creepy bleeding eye thing. That kind of helped the unease, too.

"So, what," Dean said, trying and failing to keep the clipped edge from his tone. "You just throw yourself at Earth, then? Hope you don't just get turned into a friggin' pancake?"

Maybe Dean was losing it, but he thought he saw a faint smile tug at the corners of Castiel's mouth, breaking that tragic, mostly stoic expression.

"More or less," Castiel shrugged.

"Why," Sam asked, voicing the question that was on both of their minds. Despite his genuine concern, Sam was the analytical one, the one that had to understand.

Castiel's brow furrowed, as if he was asking himself the same thing, not quite certain how to answer. "Because," he started, his eyes moving in a way that Dean found troubling. "Because I deserved to. I have wrought _so much_ destruction, and it has gone all but unpunished. Even the things I try to save..."

"And you thought you'd just go ahead and punish yourself," Dean huffed, finishing the thought for him. "Cas, you moron! You're still such a child... You could have come to us, asked for help. You and your damned pride... you stupid bastard..."

He saw the angel tense as he dished out the harsh reprimand, setting his jaw. He also saw the glistening of tears as they gathered in his eyes, the already stunning blue becoming azure oceans of pain and regret. Dean instantly felt guilty. He had never seen an angel cry, hadn't thought they were even capable. But Cas wasn't an angel anymore, was he? Damn it, Winchester, you idiot! Dean cursed himself inwardly as he stood, running his fingers back through his short-cropped hair and stomping away from his brother and his best friend, yanking his boots on and grabbing his jacket and car keys.

"Dean," Sam protested, trying to follow him to the door.

"I'll be back," Dean muttered, almost growling under his breath.

He exited the motel room, slamming the door on his way out.

He wasn't sure where he was going, but he was pissed. Pissed at himself for being such a jerk. Pissed at Castiel for pulling the self-loathing shit- that was _his _gig. Pissed at Sam for being the one who seemed level about all this crap.

So he decided it was better to be out on the road, Sabbath blaring out of the Impala's speakers as he let the heat of his anger radiate off of him in waves like the aftermath of a nuclear meltdown until it was out of his system, instead of being in that room where he might contaminate everything he cared about with the hot poison pumping through his veins.

He felt like the world's biggest asshole. Cas had done something reckless, but he had to have had his reasons, right? What he had done was a step short of suicide, and that, Dean surmised, was the thing that pissed him off the most. Was that what Castiel had wanted? Was he _trying _to kill himself? Or was he running from something? Did it have something to do with whoever _she _was, whoever it was that had caused his friend to cry out from whatever nightmare he was having?

As he drove down the empty small-town roads, not giving a damn if he was well above the speed limit, Dean silently promised himself that he would help Castiel get through this. He felt obligated, in a way. He was responsible for the angel's rebellion, after all. He felt another pang of guilt, feeling now responsible for where Cas was now, broken, distressed, _mortal_. He had sullied that powerful being, corrupted him irreparably, and now he had an obligation to keep him safe.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel winced as the door slammed shut, shaking the single pane of glass in the room's solitary window. Dean was upset with him. His eyes inexplicably itched and stung at the hunter's abrupt departure, and his throat felt like it was going to close in on itself. He didn't know how to react to this feeling, and so remained as still as possible, trying to assess it.

He felt the hot tears spill down his cheeks, but had no explanation for them. Dean often removed himself from situations he found uncomfortable. It was generally irritating, but he had never found himself reacting to the hunter's sudden bursts of irrational anger in this way, and it frightened him that he had seemingly no control over this new emotion.

It felt something like sadness, or perhaps guilt, but it was not as basic as that. It was something deeper, more complex, and as with every new sensation he had encountered since waking in his crater of ruin, it frightened him. The loss of control was... upsetting.

"Hey," Sam. Sam was still here, of course. He had been so wrapped up in trying to identify this new emotion that he had almost forgotten he was not alone. "Um, are you okay?"

"I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam appeared in his field of vision, expression pinched in worry and concern as he sat beside him on the bed. "For what?"

"For," he wasn't entirely sure. Wasn't it because of him that Dean had become agitated? "For everything."

Sam sighed, giving Castiel a reassuring smile. "He'll be back, he just... well, you know. Dean has his own ways of dealing with crap."

His head felt heavy, and though Sam's words were comforting, they did nothing to soothe the jagged lump of ice that was forming in his throat. He suddenly felt like a burden. Why had he found his way to the Winchesters? He was of no use to them as he was. He wasn't even a 'baby in a trench coat', as he no longer had that, either. Dean was right to be angry with him. He should have come to them, first, before foolishly destroying everything that he was.

The sound that escaped his lips shocked him. It was strangled, wounded, and he had not intended to make it. He felt the miserable sadness enfold him and he found that, much as he could not control his fear, he could not control this sadness, either.

"Hey, hey," Sam moved forward, and he felt the younger Winchester's large hands on his shoulders, awkward yet comforting. "It's okay... you don't have anything to be sorry for. You had your reasons."

Castiel was horrified at himself for the state he was in. He wiped at his face with one hand, surprized at how wet it was when he pulled it away. He was distantly aware that he was now sobbing.

Human emotions are so confusing.

He wasn't sure why, but the stray thought caught him off guard and he found himself laughing despite himself. He looked to Sam, hoping perhaps the hunter might have an explanation, but the look on the man's face was so twisted with confused amusement at Castiel's sudden shift of emotion it was comical. Castiel found himself sputtering at the welling amusement, unable to hold back from laughing at the younger Winchester.

Sam watched him, attempting a few times to speak what was on his mind and seeming unable to do so on the first few attempts. "What's so funny," he said finally, carefully maintaining a straight face that looked like it wanted to unravel.

"I," Castiel said when he caught a breath. "Honestly don't know."

Sam cracked a smile at this, chuckling softly.

"Human emotions are... very complex."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, smiling. "Yeah they are..."

[XXXXXX]

Dean had found himself all the way in Seattle before he'd calmed down enough to head back, but not before he'd hit a few key stops first. Thank God for sleepless cities.

He still felt awful for the way he'd reacted to the news Castiel had delivered, and he was still a little upset that the former-angel had taken such drastic measures and had possibly attempted to take his own life as Cas had mentioned once recently he felt he might, but at least he didn't feel like running every car he came up behind off the road anymore.

He pulled back up in front of the motel and, acquisitions in hand, made his way back to the room. He smiled when he saw that the light was still on. It was a almost eight now, he'd been gone for about two and a half hours or so. He figured Sam would at least still be up. They both had that problem, not being able to sleep after being woken up, even if it had only been a couple of hours. More so for Dean, ever since Purgatory. He still got that rush of adrenaline from being woken up unexpectedly.

The scene that greeted him when he opened the door was so freakishly familiar that Dean could almost forget what had happened just a couple of hours ago, if it wasn't for the fact that Cas was still wearing his clothes instead of the familiar suit and trench coat.

The aforementioned recently fallen angel sat at the end of one of the beds, legs crossed and staring intently at some droning nature show while Sam sat at the table glued to his laptop. He found himself watching Castiel as he entered the room, easing the door shut with his foot before kicking his boots off and setting the bags down at the table. The guy looked just as stiff as ever, eyebrows drawn together as he regarded the screen with intense concentration, as though the damned TV were transmitting the word of God.

He became aware of Sam watching him, one eyebrow raised questioningly at him from behind the screen of his computer. He shrugged back, giving his brother a smirk.

"Breakfast," Dean announced proudly, blatantly ignoring the fact that he was the one who stormed out as he pulled the containers out of one of the bags he had brought in. It was apology enough, he figured. No need for touchy-feely chick flick moments.

"The Hurricane," Sam remarked as he inspected the contents of the container he was offered. "Wasn't that the diner where you got drunk and convinced the waitress to do a _pole dance_ on the booth divider?"

"Yes, Sammy," Dean said with a proud grin. "Yes it was."

He saw that Castiel had broken his attention away from the television and was now staring at him. Or, more accurately, at the items on the table. Dean had figured since he'd been human for at least eleven hours now, the dude was probably starving. It had been an assumption, since he still wasn't sure how the whole fallen-angel thing worked, but it seemed like his intuition was correct.

"Cas," he said, gesturing to the table. "Get over here."

Castiel gave him a puzzled look, but unfolded himself from his perch and wandered over to one of the open chairs, eyeing the take-out box dubiously as it was set in front of him, then looked up at Dean with those confused, wounded puppy eyes.

Dean paused at the look. He had seen Cas troubled before, but there was something so... human about this expression. It wasn't as simple as the angel generally expressed. There was confusion, hope, longing, fear... and a question that lay beneath it all.

"What," Dean chided. "It's pancakes and bacon."

Castiel scowled at the styrene container as his stomach rumbled, as though the inanimate object had caused the base reaction.

Dean couldn't help a chuckle, and saw Sam hiding a smirk behind a mouthful of pan-fried bread product. He sighed when the sound brought Cas' attention back to him, a look of hurt confusion on his friend's face. Dear god, he was _pouting_.

"Here," Dean sighed, opening the container and grabbing a form, placing it in Castiel's hand. "You know how to use that, right?"

Castiel frowned, something like willful determination in his eyes. "I have observed often enough to grasp the... 'basics'."

_Don't laugh, Winchester. No matter how hilarious it is, do not laugh._

It wasn't quite as entertaining as Dean had hoped, until the ex-angel tried to use his fork on the bacon, at which point Dean merely picked up a piece of his own, clearing his throat to get the angel's attention.

Castiel had murmured something to the effect of 'too many rules' before emulating the hunter, his eyes going wide as he bit into the strip of pig meat.

All four strips were gone in less than twenty seconds.

"Sioux Falls," Sam said out of nowhere, peering intently at his laptop.

Dean almost choked on the bit of pancakes he was chewing. "What?"

"Last night, eleven 18 local time, a 'meteor' hit just outside of Sioux Falls, South Dakota, destroying a tool shed on the property of Sheriff Jodi Mills..."

Dean caught the sheepish look on Castiel's face and smirked. "No shit? So you really did throw yourself at the Earth, huh?"

Cas kept his head down, moving his eyes up to the hunter as though he had just been reprimanded for doing something unforgivable.

Dean burst out laughing at the look, patting the fallen angel on the shoulder. The perplexed look it earned him only made it worse, and Dean had to put his fork down and sit back before he made a mess. "Were you aiming for Bobby's house or somethin'?"

Castiel frowned, tilting his head to one side. "It was... a place that you and Sam were familiar with. I thought that it might... get your attention."

"Yeah," Sam said, smiling as well. "And if it didn't, Sheriff Mills probably would've called us if she'd found you."

Dean almost entertained the thought of calling Sheriff Mills and telling her what had actually happened to her shed, but decided better of it in the end. Jodi was a good woman and knew about the supernatural, but some things were better left uncomplicated.

They ate the rest of their breakfast in companionable silence, and Dean found himself fascinated by how Cas seemed to be adapting to everything that came up. He had hit an all night Wal-Mart while he was out blowing off steam, and had taken it upon himself to pick up a few things for the former angel. After introducing Castiel to the concept of a hot shower (which he seemed to enjoy immensely- they couldn't get him out of the bathroom until the water had run cold enough to freeze a penguin), he presented the ex-angel with the clothes he had picked up so he wouldn't have to run around looking like he'd just stumbled out of a trailer park. The jeans were a little too big, but a belt fixed the problem, and it wasn't like they couldn't just pick up something else later. It would do for now. It was weird to see the guy in jeans and a t-shirt and flannel, and he couldn't help but think of his adventures in 2014, wondering if maybe some things really are just guided by fate. He didn't used to believe in the idea of fate, but he'd met one of the bitches once, and they were nothing if not tenacious.

He still couldn't believe how _small _his friend looked now. Sure, he'd always been a couple of inches shorter than Dean, but he'd always seemed larger than life, his small frame buried in the bulk of his suit and trench coat. It still seemed surreal, but he'd gotten over the initial shock of what Cas had done and he could see now that- despite the guy seeming constantly puzzled by some of the strangest things, moreso than before- he was still just Cas.

Things got less amusing when Sam had insisted on taking a look of some of his wounds later that afternoon. Dean found it hard to watch Cas flinch, eyes watering in pain every time Sammy poured peroxide over one of the many cuts and scrapes that covered his skin. Oh, he was trying to be steadfast, but Dean guessed he had never really felt 'human' pains before, and it was probably overwhelming him. He barely resembled the Hammer of God that Dean had known before.

"Hey," Sam said, breaking into Dean's thoughts. "Do we have any of that vicodin left from Wisconsin?"

"No," Dean said automatically. He knew that he still had half a bottle left, but he couldn't help remembering the Castiel he had met in 2014, the perpetually stoned hippie-Cas that seemed to sustain himself on drugs and alcohol. He suspected that, given Castiel was new to all of this, he might be prone to developing an addictive personality. He wasn't going to let that happen, even if future-Cas _had_ seemed more relaxed and easy-going. "There's some Advil in my duffel, though. One sec."

He crossed the room and picked up his bag from the foot of the bed, digging through it and then tossed the bottle to Sam, who then spent the next fifteen minutes convincing Cas to take the damned pills and then showing him how to swallow them down with a glass of water.

The rest of the day went more or less the same, introducing Castiel to the intricacies of being human, for better or for worse. The ex-angel seemed split on his capability to pick up on certain habits, easing into some while others, such as the art of brushing one's teeth, seemed to frustrate and confuse him.

Everything fell apart when Sam had announced he was heading to bed, and Dean had stated he was beat as well. It had been a long fucking day, and he needed to sleep.

"Cas," Dean called as he came back in from the car, unfolding one of their emergency sleeping bags and settling it on the floor. "You take the bed again."

Castiel looked over from his adopted perch on the end of the bed, tensing visibly, eyes wide.

"No," he intoned. "I don't want to sleep."

Dean raised an eyebrow, looking over at him, then to Sam. He could see that Cas was just as exhausted as they were. He'd been nodding off for the last half hour or so, and he seemed barely able to keep his eyes open for all his determination.

"Cas," Sam said softly, still using that tone as though he were explaining something to a child. "You're going to have to sleep at some point, it's one of the downsides."

Castiel pointedly returned his attention to the television, flipping idly through the channels. He remained tense, occasionally flicking his eyes toward either Sam or Dean, jaw clenched.

Was he scared? Dean shook his head. Of course- the last time he'd been asleep he'd had the mother of all nightmares. He'd been a traumatized mess when he'd woken up that morning, apparently never having dreamed before. He was probably afraid if he drifted off his mind would torment him again with bad dreams.

Dean sighed. As Sam had said, he was going to have to sleep eventually, so he might as well get used to it. "Cas, come on. You're gonna end up passing out anyway."

"No."

Dean set his hands akimbo on his hips, letting out an exasperated sigh.

"Look," he said. "This is what humans do. You wanted to be human? You're gonna have to deal."

"No."

"Ask Sammy," he continued, earning a bitch-face from his brother. "Not sleeping sucks. Remember when Sam was crazy? When he _couldn't_ sleep?"

The pained, guilty look in Castiel's eyes made Dean mentally kick himself. Right, he still felt bad about that. He was the one who had caused Sam to visit crazy-town in the first place.

"I... can't," Cas said meekly. _Meekly_. Dean had never even placed that word in the same _universe_ as Castiel, let alone as adjective to describe him. Cas had never been _meek_.

Dean cleared his throat, giving his brother a look of pre-warning. "How about," man, he was going to regret this. "How about if I, uh," what the hell was he thinking? "If I was, you know..."

Sam apparently didn't feel the need to heed the warning Dean had given him, smirking in devilish bemusement. "Dude, are you blushing?"

"Shaddap, Sammy!"

Sam chuckled. "I think what Dean's trying to _ask_, is... would you feel better if he _slept with you_?"

Dean wanted to smack the hell out of his brother, his ears feeling like they were going to burn right off the sides of his head as Castiel turned toward him, that sheepish, questioning look back on his face.

Dean sighed in frustration at his snickering brother. "In the same bed, not with, jeez, Sammy. Awkward..."

Cas seemed reluctant to say it, but he could see in the former angel's expression that he was exhausted, and the thought of Dean being close to him was appealing to him.

"All right," Dean sighed. "Come on. Get over here."

He almost laughed when Cas, almost timidly, did as he was bade, scooting back to the head of the bed as Dean slid in on the other side beneath the now-singular blanket.

"Just," he said as he settled against the pillow, laying on his back and staring uncomfortably up at the ceiling. "No spooning, okay?"

Castiel gave him a puzzled look.

"I don't understand the reference..."

Dean chuckled. "Nevermind. Just go to sleep..."

"Yes, Dean."

Dean heard his brother snickering from across the room as he switched off the light.

It felt odd, considering he hadn't shared a bed with anyone since he'd split from Lisa's place- not really anyway- but he couldn't say it was exactly uncomfortable. Once he heard the familiar pattern of Sam's breathing even out into the steady rhythm of sleep, he shifted onto his side, facing Castiel. The ex-angel had passed out on his back, face slack and mouth partially open. At least he wasn't snoring... Dean didn't think he could handle it if Cas snored.

He just watched Castiel for a few moments as his eyelids became heavy, taking in how peaceful he looked asleep. He always seemed intense, stony even. It was different to see him this way, vulnerable and completely at peace. He differences fascinated him.

He let his thoughts drift over the last twenty-four hours as sleep pulled him down into his own nightmares.

He would have blamed it solely on the fact that he was asleep had he known that, at some point in the night, he had drawn a little closer to Castiel, languishing an arm around the former angel's middle as they both slept, relatively peacefully.

(Aaah, this story won't leave me alone. lol. How is everyone liking it so far? This is my first attempt at a Destiel-type fic, and my first attempt at anything even remotely 'romantic', so I apologize if it seems awkward or out of character.)


	5. Chapter 5

(**A/N**: So this chapter ended up being a lot of "blah blah blah" internal reflection, but I felt it was important to get inside each of their heads for just a minute and explore where each of them were mentally over the events that had transpired. Also, it gave me the opportunity to gloss over some of the mundane drama and just give an overview of some of the crap Cas was dealing with in order to move the plot, so it didn't get all drama-ish. Anyway! Enough of my babble :) Hope you enjoy chapter 5. Let me know what you guys think!)

Castiel's first day as a full-fledged human was one of the better ones. The days that followed were full of turbulance and high stress on the part of all three of them.

At first it had seemed like things were only getting worse. Castiel was slipping into a sort of depression, and every new emotion overwhelmed him. He came to Sam frequently in the first week, asking questions in his attempts to identify what he was feeling. Sam could see that it was pissing Dean off, which was completely irrational. Other than what Dean would describe as 'chick flick moments', where Sam would patiently listen to Castiel describe what he was feeling and Sam would help put a name to it and either give him advice on how to make himself feel better or simply enjoy the revelation along with the former angel, Cas stuck to Dean like a duckling behind its mother.

Dean, oddly enough, didn't seem to mind after the first day or two. Cas seemed so lost, overwhelmed by everything. Sam was fascinated by the changes in their friend and wondered how it was that, in the act of falling, he had so quickly developed what seemed to be a whole set of emotions that he'd apparently never had before. He deduced in the end that it must have been his Grace suppressing the erratic chemical changes. Dean called him a nerd and shrugged it off.

Castiel still adamantly refused to sleep unless Dean was there with him. On the third night, when Dean had declared that he needed a break and went to a bar, Cas waited up until Dean got back, after three in the morning, driving Sam crazy with his pacing through the room whenever he started nodding off.

Shaving proved to be a nightmare. On the fourth day, Dean had said that Cas was starting to look like Grizzly Adams and absconded with the former angel to the bathroom, attempting to show him how to use a disposable razor. Castiel got impatient with it quickly, complaining that he had never had to do so before and didn't understand why he did now and that he despised the thick foam. This was later rectified when Dean, out of the blue, picked up an electric razor later that afternoon, which Castiel seemed to prefer, but still wasn't all too happy with and only used if Dean prodded him to do so.

Castiel also refused to leave the motel room in that first week, and grew visibly upset if Sam or Dean both tried to leave, leaving the only option for the brothers to take shifts staying with him.

He maintained his usual stoic demeanor for the most part, but the illusion, Sam found, was easily shattered by the simplest things. He and Dean had both tried to get Castiel to open up about what had terrified him so badly about his nightmares that first night, but he either wouldn't or couldn't bring himself to discuss it, becoming distressed whenever it was brought up. Fear, depression, anxiety, all of these mostly moderate things that Sam took as every day life seemed too much for Castiel.

Sam noticed other things, too. Like how his brother seemed to have picked up Castiel's staring habit, often watching the fallen angel for long minutes with a far off look of contemplation. Sam found their friend's condition intriguing as well, but he didn't see any reason to stare about it. Castiel hadn't gotten any better about that, either, watching Dean in the same matter. It was only slightly less unnerving now, considering that there was more blinking involved during Cas's stare-a-thons. Sam didn't really think much of this, though. His brother had always been closer to Castiel, considering their 'profound bond' that the angel had so memorably noted a couple of years back, which Sam figured refered to Castiel pulling Dean out of Hell.

It was now the eighth day since Castiel had been dropped off with them out of the blue. Sam was at the room with him while Dean had gone to pick up a few essentials and grab dinner. The former angel was no longer as prone to sudden bouts of crying and laughing for, as far as Sam could tell, little or no reason (he had to admit though, that first day, when Cas had his little panic attack when he had started crying after Dean pulled his usual jerk crap and stormed off, and then started laughing for no apparent reason, Sam had found it incredibly hard not to laugh, himself... the look on Castiel's face had been priceless). He seemed to be getting more and more control over his emotions over the last day or two, perhaps because now he had a name to associate with many of the common ones that had so recently become new to him.

Sam was seated in his usual place at the table, pouring over the usual news sites for anything that looked like a job. He and Dean had both decided that until Cas got used to being completely Earth-bound they weren't going to pick anything up, but it was habit, something to do. If he actually did find anything, he could always call Garth to pass it on to someone else.

Castiel was in front of the television as usual. He seemed no less fascinated by the device, and spent hours rooted to one spot when Dean wasn't in the room.

He was actually kind of surprized when Cas got up from his spot and turned off the television, sitting back down and staring at the blank screen for several minutes with his brow furrowed, seeming lost in thought.

The sudden lack of background noise was a little disturbing to Sam.

"What's up," he asked conversationally, watching as Castiel fidgeted, glancing around the room and seeming agitated and sort of distracted.

"I don't know."

Sam raised an eyebrow. He had a feeling this was going to be one of those weird converesations. "Run out of stuff to watch? We could see if Dean'll pick up a couple DVDs from Red Box or something..."

Castiel regarded Sam for a moment, contemplating the offer.

"I am no longer finding the television ... entertaining."

Sam blinked, turning toward the former angel in mute surprise.

"Well," he said. "What do you want to do?"

"... I," Castiel said, glancing back at the television. "I don't know. I don't wish to watch television, I am feeling... agitated. And this room feels... confined."

Sam watched Castiel for a long moment before it dawned on him, illiciting a soft chuckle from the hunter. "So, you're bored."

Castiel held his eyes, his own narrowed in contemplation, head tilted to one side.

"When you run out of things to do, it means you're bored. You know, it wouldn't kill you to get out and take a walk or something... I know you said you didn't want to go outside for whatever reason, but... Dean will be back soon. After we eat we should all get out for a bit."

To his surprize, Castiel actually seemed to consider this. He had been adamant about not leaving before. Sam and Dean both agreed that it had something to do with Inias' request to keep Cas safe, that maybe someone upstairs really might have it out for Cas. They had angel-proofed the room (part of the reason they hadn't quite got around to packing up and moving on yet), and Castiel had been content to stay put up until now.

The room was tiny, though, and Sam didn't blame him. He'd probably go stir crazy if he had been stuck indoors, trapped in the tiny five-hundred square foot motel room for eight days straight, recovering or not.

"Dean and I will both go with you," Sam continued, hoping to tip the scale on which Castiel was currently weighing the proposition. "It'd do you some good to get a little fresh air."

Castiel nodded after a long moment. "All right."

Sam smiled. It was a small step, but given the last week, it felt like landing on the moon. Dealing with Castiel really was like dealing with a child. Outside of fighting, Cas was utterly clueless as to how people function on an independent level.

His social skills were a little 'rusty', but he was getting there.

[XXXXXX]

After Dean had arrived back at the motel with Dinner, Castiel's mood shifted from the brooding boredom into his usual shadowing of the elder Winchester.

He didn't really understand his sudden need to be close to Dean. He had always found the human fascinating for his resiliance, and he did feel a closer bond to him than he did to Sam, due mostly to the fact that he had touched the man's soul in a way that he had no other when he had pulled him from Hell, piecing him back together with a small portion of his own Grace. He was aware that Dean often referred to him as his 'best friend' in his thoughts, which honored Castiel greatly. He knew that Dean did not give friendship or trust lightly, and the fact that the hunter trusted him, even after every horrible thing he had done, made his heart swell.

Trust was something that Castiel had come to learn in the time he had known the Winchesters. It was not an alien concept, but it was also not one that he was personally familiar with. There was trust by obligation with his brothers, but it was not the same kind of trust as he felt with his human friends. In heaven, trust accompanies duty. It is expected that your brethren will be at your side because that's simply how things were. The concept of betrayal, subterfuge, had been utterly foreign to him until the Apocalypse, until Dean Winchester and the fallen angel Anna Milton had opened his eyes to the possibility of rebellion, that not all of his brothers were playing with a fair hand.

There was something else now, however- Dean had become safety to him. He felt comforted by the hunter's presence in a way that puzzled him, a fondness that he wasn't certain was there before. He contemplated it often in Dean's absences, a few times tempted to ask Sam about it as he had so many of the confusing things he was feeling, but had decided that it may be awkward. He didn't know why he found this reluctance to discuss it with Sam, the younger Winchester seemed more than willing to discuss any and all questions that Castiel brought to him. In the end he had decided that it must simply be a form of affection towards his friend that he had previously unable to feel before he had fallen.

He was thankful that Dean had been mostly patient and compassionate toward him over the last week, aside from the first morning when Dean had left angry. There had been a few times over the first few days when Dean had snapped at him in frustration, such as the second night when Dean had suggested that he sleep alone. Castiel had panicked and again refused to sleep. He didn't want to tell the Winchesters that the dream he had had that first night had terrified him so deeply, that he was afraid of the disturbing visions. He knew that Dean had his own nightmares of Hell and Purgatory, and he was ... embarrassed ... to tell either of them about the white room and the woman with the cold eyes.

And Samandriel.

He often thought about Samandriel, though he tried not to. Every time he thought of his brother it brought him to unbidden tears. Everything about the memory was just so wrong. _Self defense_, his mind kept telling him, but he was conflicted. He knew, _knew _that Samandriel had not attacked him, but, beyond his ability to explain it, he could not contradict that statement, that he had killed his brother in self defense.

He knew that it had not been so. He had murdered his brother, and he had no idea _why_.

He suspected that there was something deeper, something to do with that white room that he had seen in his nightmare, that he had caught glimpses of in the warehouse where the demon Crowley had been keeping his brother, torturing him.

He could not bring himself to tell his friends any of these things. He also could not tell them that he felt, but could not be certain, that this was the reason that he had decided to fall.

He ruminated on all of these things as he idly peeled the tomatos off of his cheeseburger. He wasn't picky, but he had found that he really rather disliked the vile red fruit. He had told Dean as much, but there they were. Deplorable, abhorrent, seedy tomatos.

The brothers generally took turns acquiring their meals, and Castiel found he rather enjoyed the ritual (though he wasn't very fond of what consumption brought about), but tomatos were simply not abidable.

"Sorry Cas," Dean said, almost sincerely, between bites of his own cheeseburger. "Forgot to ask for yours without."

"It's fine," Castiel replied stoically. He was aware that he was being what Dean referred to as 'moody', but after being 'bored' for much of the afternoon, he found it difficult not to be.

"So," Sam said as his churned the thick dressing into his salad (which included the despicable aforementioned loathsome red fruit). "Cas and I were talking earlier and thought we should get out for a bit tonight, go for a walk or something."

Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother, then slowly turned toward Castiel, one elbow propped on the table as he regarded the former angel in mock-stunned silence.

"You," he said after a moment. "Go outside? When did Hell freeze over?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes in irritation at the hunter's smirking tone.

"Yeah, all right," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "A walk, why the hell not..."

Satisfied, Castiel finished his meal in silence as the brothers discussed where they should go.

[XXXXXX]

In the end they had decided to walk to a park that Sam had seen near the town's middle school, a pleasant wooded area that hosted a small play area. The evening was brisk and cloudless, and though Dean would rather be behind the wheel, he found he rather enjoyed the activity.

Castiel was stuck to him like glue the entire way, as usual, and he found he didn't really mind the bubble-violator being in his personal space these last few days. He had spent much of the time worrying about Cas, almost to the point of walking on eggshells so as not to upset the delicate balance of peace within the ex-angel when it was there. It was exasperating, the guy was so moody all the time, constantly teetering on the edge of a breakdown over some damned thing or another.

Dean hated it when Cas broke down, which at first seemed to Dean to happen a hundred freaking times a day. It physically hurt him to watch because he just didn't know how to deal with that crap. Of course, Sam always came to the rescue and managed to get Cas to calm down, but that just pissed Dean off even more. He felt helpless, and it was driving him nuts.

Cas still seemed to stick with him the most, though, and for some reason he couldn't figure out, he was okay with that. He felt like he was going to tear his hair out the first couple days, because it seemed like every time he turned around, Castiel was right there behind him looking like a lost puppy. He'd gotten a little better about it in the last couple of days though, back to his usual creepy staring rather than being at Dean's heel every time he got up to go take a crap. It's like his boundary issues had gotten worse since he'd chucked himself down from Heaven.

When they finally reached the park, stopping at the row of picnic tables near the swing-set, Cas had revealed one of his rare, enigmatic smiles, just staring up at the sky. Dean found himself watching the fallen angel again. There was so much that seemed different about Castiel now, but also so much that was the same, and the two sides were beginning to blur together in Dean's mind.

He still seemed so naive, vital in a way that few people Dean had encountered had ever seemed. In moments like this, when Castiel was at peace, he could see the powerful angel that was like a shadow super-imposed over the scruffy, awkward little nerd in the denim jacket and jeans.

Dean frowned, suddenly feeling like he was on the cusp of a revelation. _What the hell was that_? But as soon as he had noticed it, it got away from him again.

"This is... nice."

Dean glanced back up from his thoughts, watching Castiel's profile as the smaller man gazed wistfully up at the velvet blanket of stars. He couldn't help smiling, hoping that when Cas finally leveled off the rollercoaster there'd be more moments like this during their downtimes.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, turning his attention heavenward. "Me and Sammy'll sometimes pull off somewhere out in the middle of nowhere, just sit on the hood of the Impala and watch the stars. Some places, where there's not so much light pollution, you can see the Milky Way all the way across the sky..."

"We haven't done that in years," Sam said. Crap, he had totally forgotten Sam was even there... what the hell? Where did that come from? Had he really been so totally absorbed in his best friend that he'd blanked out his own brother?

Dismissing the troubling though, he chuckled softly. "Maybe we should do it more often, then. I forgot how much I missed them..."

And he had. He'd told Cas and Benny as much as they wandered through the forests of Purgatory under they gray, featureless sky. He hadn't really taken the time since he'd been back home to really appreciate the small things like this. He'd have to change that, for Cas and for himself.

But for now, standing beneath the stars in this small Northwestern town in the middle of nowhere Washington, with his brother and his angel, Dean felt something close to peace.

It wouldn't occur to him until much later that this was the point at which he had started to think of Castiel as _his, _and at the moment he didn't notice, or particularly care.


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel had found himself genuinely enjoying the walk with Dean and Sam, even though he knew it had been an ill-advised idea to do so.

There were still many of his brethren who held a grudge against him for declaring himself God, slaughtering thousands of his own kind and releasing the Leviathans from Purgatory- and those were merely his most recent transgressions.

There were many more who disliked him solely because he exorcised 'free will', consorted with humans (namely the two humans who had 'ruined' the Apocalypse, two humans who were almost as well universally disliked as he himself), and nearly all of his brothers thought that he was insane. Though, if he was honest with himself, it was quite possible.

So it came as no surprize, really, that when he and the Winchesters returned from their walk, there was someone waiting for them in front of their room, a message in Enochian scratched into the red paint on the door.

_Traitor._

She stood leaning back against the door, arms folded across her chest, her chestnut coloured hair drawn back from her temples, loose in the back and falling in soft waves to brush her shoulders. She wore a storm-grey pant suit that matched her intense eyes, full lips painted a rich wine colour that gave her inexpressive mouth a sense of wicked cruelty.

Castiel stopped as they came into view of the angel that stood waiting for them, Dean drawing closer on his left, while am closed the distance to cover his right.

"Who the hell are you," Dean demanded of the woman as he reached automatically for his weapon.

"Castiel," she purred. "Do you always allow your guard dogs to speak your battles?"

He could feel the tension building in the men on either side of him at the antagonistic words. Who was she One of his garrison? A supporter of Raphael, still bitter over the war? He could not see her beyond her vessel.

"My, my," she continued, pushing away fro the door and walking slowly toward them. "We all heard what you had done, Castiel. But just _look _at you, down in the mud with the primates. You blend in well..."

"I'm gonna ask you one more time before I run up your dry cleaning bill, who the hell are you." Dean had that look in his eyes that bore no comprimise. Castiel could feel anger and fear at war within him. He had always hatedthe way some of his brothers thought of humans, as though they were lower forms of life, while Castiel had been captivated by them from his many years watching the Earth. They were fascinating, complex in ways that angels couldn't even imagine (which, he had found first-hand, was absolutely true for better or worse). Castiel silently begged the elder Winchester not to do anything foolish.

A slow smile spread over her face. "You cannot see me, can you? Everything that you were has burned away. I am Ramiel."

Castiel tensed. Ramiel, angel of thunder, judgement's shepherd. Ramiel had been deeply angered when the Apocalypse had been averted- her divine purpose unfulfilled. Already, he was not liking the probable outcome of this encounter.

"What do you want," Castiel asked simply, trying desperately to keep the fear and outrage out of his tone.

"It's not often that one of us takes it upon themselves to cast himself out of heaven," she said as she drew closer. "Especially when one does so to avoid punishment and servitude under the order of due justice."

Castiel's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "The only 'punishment'," (air quotes) "I recall in answer to my rebellion and the ill-conceived acts I carried out was merely to be brought back each time, forced to live with my guilt. Was I incorrect in assuming that?"

He could feel Dean's eyes on him, like twin points of angry emerald flame. This was his fight, however, and he did not wish to bring his friends into the middle of it if he could avoid doing so.

Ramiel laugghed softly. "You poor, deluded thing. No matter. I am here on business, so I suppose I won't keep you waiting."

"Whatever business you have with Cas," Dean said, taking a step forward and partially blocking Castiel's view of the other angel. "It's my business, too."

"Dean," Castiel pleaded. What was he thinking? They had no weapons against angels, to fight her would be suicide!

"If you wish to go first, ape, then I will oblige. I have orders to kill all of you."

With that said, she had her blade summoned to her hand, lunging at Dean.

Castiel didn't think, merely acting on the base instinct of eons of serving as one of Heaven's soldiers. He grabbed Dean, half-tackling him out of the way as Ramiel closed to strike. Castiel felt the blade graze his shoulder, but curiously, he did not feel much pain as he had expected to. His nerves were flooded white-hot with rage at the assassin for attempting to harm _Dean, his _human. _His _charge!

Shrugging off the wound, he launched himself at her, throwing his shoulder into her ribs as he came back up and wrapping his arms around the arm that held the blade.

"Cas!" He heard Dean call out and turned his eyes toward the hunter, trying with every ounce of his being to convey to him to disarm their attacker.

Dean seemed to pick up on what he was intending, but it was just a moment too late. He saw Dean reach a silent plan of attack with his brother, then both men lunged at the assassin, Dean going for the angel blade.

The angel let out a howl of frustration as she shook Castiel off, flinging him through the air with barely a glance. He found himself careening into a parked Prius across the lot.

The whole skirmish had lasted less than half a minute.

[XXXXXX]

Dean didn't know what this bitch's problem was, but he was about to fix it the only way he knew how.

Something snapped in him when he saw Cas flying across the lot, smashing into the trendy little hybrid with a worrying crunch. Though, given the way they made cars these days, he wasn't sure if it had hurt Cas or the car more. Either way, the bitch had just smacked his angel (wait, what?) and he wasn't letting her off at that.

He was about to do something about it, when suddenly he found himself airborne, hitting the wall beside the motel room door with a thud and sticking there.

Ramiel held her hand outstretched, lips curling up at the corners as Dean felt himself being pressed into the cheap stucco.

"Not much without Castiel to back you," she smirked at him, then turned to give a warning look to Sam. "Are you?"

"Please," he heard his brother say. "You know we aren't a threat to you, and neither is Castiel- not anymore. Why is heaven so concerned with him _now_?"

She gave Sam an up-and-down look, an expression of amusement and mild disgust in her cold eyes.

"Because of you," she lilted, turning her eyes back toward Dean, accusation written on her brow. "For the love of a human, my brother spiraled downward into depravity and rebellion. Because of you, he was driven mad. Because of you, Dean Winchester," she spat his name like a curse. "Because of you my brother cast himself down, and now his death has been decreed from on high."

Dean clenched his jaw, his blood running hot. He couldn't deny any of it. Not to himself, not to this angel assassin who had to come along and ruin an otherwise pretty decent day. From what he could tell, if he had never met Castiel,, the angel never would have come to be where he was now; lost, broken, fallen. He had pushed Cas toward rebellion. Toward free will.

"I know," was all he could respond.

Ramiel raised an eyebrow at him, a shudder of rage coursing up through her vessel like a bolt of electricity. He saw Sam move out of the corner of his eye, the angry angel's attention, for the moment, locked on Dean. He needed to keep it that way, just long enough for Sam to finish the banishing sigil so they could get Cas and get the hell out before she found her way back.

He grinned at the angel, all teeth and attitude. "What, not what you wanted to hear, sweetheart? Yeah, I fucked Cas up good. Want me to feel bad about it? Too bad. Cas's better than any of you ass-hats put together because the dude thinks for himself! All you dicks know how to do is _follow orders_."

_Come on, Sammy..._

Ramiel's eyes narrowed on him, then flicked to the side, right to where Sam was finishing the banishment sigil. With a flick of her wrist, he never got to put his hand over it, instead flying back, right over the hood of the Impala.

_Crap._

"Enough," the assassin intoned, raising her blade to strike, bringing it down with fierce accuracy toward Dean's heart.

_I'm sorry, dad._ _I tried to look after Sammy..._

He closed his eyes as the blade came within inches, but was instead met by a bright flash as Ramiel shrieked in pain and rage, the unspent blade clattering to the pavement in the wake of her abrupt removal.

Dean's feet fell the few inches to the ground and he staggered to remain upright. Behind where Ramiel had stood was Castiel, crouched with his palm outstretched on the ground, the banishment sigil burned into the pavement of the parking lot.

Dean gave him a grin, then looked to his left to see Sam stumbling back over toward them, looking dazed but otherwise all right.

Seeing Sam uninjured, Dean picked up the blade, hefting it in his hands with admiration before moving over to Castiel, who hadn't moved since banishing the angelic assassin. "Hey," he said, crouching down in front of Castiel. "You good?"

Castiel flicked his eyes up toward the hunter, wide and full of pain. Dean saw the gash on his temple, probably from where he'd smashed into the car, and the hand not holding him upright was clutching his shoulder which, Dean noticed, was soaked through with blood.

"Crap," Dean sighed. "Come on. We need to move before she comes back."

"Go ahead and get him into the car, Dean," Sam said. "I'll pack up."

"Just grab the essentials." Dean gently grabbed the ex-angel up beneath his uninjured arm, steadying him as he limped toward the car.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel murmured as the hunter opened up the back door.

Dean stopped cold, turning and giving him a questioning look. "What the hell for?"

"She would not have come here if not for me."

Dean set his jaw. After all this, after that bitch tried to kill _him _as well as Sammy and himself, the dude was trying to blame himself?

"Listen up, because I'm only going to say this once," Dean grit out, putting his finger in Castiel's face to make sure he had the fallen angel's attention. "You are _one of us_. You are my friend and I will be God-damned-" he gave Cas a warning look as it appeared he was about to make a protest about Dean's use of blasphemy. "No, don't give me that shit right now I'm _still talking_. Remember Team Free Will? That didn't stop at the end of the Apocalypse, man. You and Sammy are all I've got, and if you need me to go to bat for you, I _will_. So don't give me any more shit about how you _deserve _to be punished, or that _you_ screwed up our lives because I have always, _always _told you I'd be there if you needed me. That is what _friends do_!"

Castiel stood there in silence, his eyes locked on Dean's throughout his monologue, taking every word like a slap to the face. Dean tried not to feel guilty. He really did.

"Yes, Dean. I... I'm sorry," Castiel choked out, managing to keep a straight face as a single tear spilled down his cheek. Though, it was testament to how much control he'd been able to reign in over his roller-coastering emotions that he didn't start sobbing.

Dean sighed, reaching out and wiping away the tear, which seemed to confuse the former angel. "Don't apologize, just... ah hell, I dunno. Just trust me, okay?"

"I trust you," Castiel said, looking slightly ashamed.

Dean couldn't take it anymore. Checking the door to the room to make sure it was still closed, he pulled Castiel into a hug. Castiel stiffened at first, and Dean wondered idly if anyone had ever hugged him before in his entire long life (other than maybe Cupid, but that was more like psychological warfare). After a moment, however, he relaxed- allowing himself to be hugged but not exactly rushing to reciprocate. Dean figured, smirking to himself, Cas probably didn't know what to do with the gesture in this particular situation.

After a moment, Dean pulled away and pulled the back passenger door open.

"All right," he said, making sure Cas got in okay before closing the door and then getting into the driver's side. "Let's blow this joint."

"Dean," Castiel said, once he was settled as comfortably as possible in the back.

"Yeah?"

"...Thank you."

Neither one of them mentioned the chick-flick moment to Sam when he came back out less than a minute later with their duffel bags, just in time to miss the whole thing.

[XXXXXX]

Two hours and a hundred fifty miles later, they found themselves in another motel, hoping that it was enough. The wound on Castiel's shoulder wasn't terrible, but it needed taking care of- more than just a wadded up mass of gauze could provide.

Sam had gone out to get a six pack and a few things to replenish their rapidly diminishing first aid kit (newly human fallen angels seemed to have a talent for injury, it seemed), leaving Dean and Cas alone in the room.

Castiel had peeled off the bloodied shirts and jacket, now seated on the edge of the bath tub while Dean perched on the toilet, carefully stitching the wound from the angel blade. It was deep, but hadn't cut into the muscle, at least, and wasn't long enough to require more than half a dozen stitches.

Castiel sat stiffly, bracing himself each time the needle pierced his skin, biting his lip to quash the whimpering that tried to accompany the pain. Dean smiled a bit, noting how hard Cas was trying.

He knotted the last stitch, sitting back to admire his work as Cas tilted his head, eyes watching him from beneath dark, tossled hair, looking like a kicked puppy. Once he was satisfied that the stitches would hold and that it would heal all right, he spread antibiotic over the closed wound and wrapped it lightly in gauze.

"All done," Dean stated, ruffling Castiel's hair a bit. He didn't quite understand the sudden soft spot he'd found for his friend. Sure, it was still fun to tease him for his awkwardness, but seeing the once powerful being brought to his knees by things that he once would have shrugged off as nothing (he couldn't even recall how many bullets that he had himself put into the angel when they'd first met). He wouldn't admit it out loud, hell he barely admitted it to himself, but he thought Cas was kind of cute when he was pouting.

But right now, all he wanted to do was comfort his friend and make sure he was all right.

Castiel nodded. He hadn't said a word since getting into the car at the last motel.

They both exited the bathroom, and Dean paused for a moment, picking his jacket up off the end of the bed where he had tossed it and pulling out the angel blade.

"Here," he said, holding the handle toward Castiel. "This is yours."

Castiel gave him a questioning look.

"Come on, don't play dumb. I've seen you use one of these things," Dean gestured at him with the handle, letting him know he was going to take it or he was just going to keep standing there holding it out to him. "You're more of a badass with that freaking knife than some people I know are with guns."

"Dean," Castiel started, then turned away.

"Don't give me any of that crap. They're after you, right? This is the only thing that can put them down?"  
Castiel sighed, moving his eyes back to Dean's. Dean thought he saw something in that expression, something sad and wounded, reluctant to take the knife- but he reached out anyway, wrapping his fingers around the handle and then just holding it in his hands, staring down at it.

"I'm gonna do my best to watch your back, Cas," Dean said, catching the former angel's eyes once more. "But I know you can protect yourself, too. You're bullshitting yourself if you think you need angel mojo in a damned knife fight."

Dean gave him a reassuring grin.

Castiel shook his head. "The last time I held one of these," he said, setting the blade on the night stand between the beds (which, Dean noted, was still within easy reach, and so not dismissed). "Was when I..."

Dean watched him as he struggled through it. He knew what Cas was going to say. He had wondered what all that was about, rescuing Alfie just to off him in the end. It was just so... not _Cas_.

Castiel kept his eyes on the far wall, slightly downcast, not looking at Dean. "The last time I held a blade in my hand was when I murdered my brother.

Dean frowned. He had remembered Cas saying that Alfie had been compromised or something, that he had attacked Cas first. He was about to mention this when Castiel spoke again.

"I don't know what happened. I wanted to _save _him. I didn't _want _to kill him!"

Something wasn't adding up. "Of course you didn't want to kill him, why else would we have gone after him?"

Castiel turned back toward him, his eyebrows knitted, a mess of fury, anguish and fear in his eyes. "_I _would not have killed my brother. Even had he attacked me. And I do not know why I did."

Dean stared into those blue eyes, watching the pain gather into into tears that threatened to fall but stubbornly remained. He slowly started putting the pieces together. Castiel had been adamant about saving Samandriel. He had said that he had tuned into 'angel radio' and heard Samandriel's cry for help, and yet not long before, he had said he had 'turned it off', assumably preferring to keep it that way. That whole morning had been odd, the way Cas had responded when Dean had questioned him about it. Odd even for Cas. And then later in the warehouse, when they had found Alfie, when Cas froze in the hall, curled in on himself against the wall, and then finding the two angels beside the Impala outside, Cas's cryptic explanation and sudden departure.

Cas was running from something, but he didn't know what.

Dean felt his hands clenching into fists, rage building at something that didn't yet have a face he could direct his anger at. He needed to get out before he started breaking things. But he couldn't. He couldn't leave Cas alone in the room even with the angel-proofing up, and Sammy was still out with the Impala. Fuck! He felt like he was going to explode. Someone, or some thing, had been pulling Castiel's strings, and for the moment he was helpless to do anything about it.

_Calm the hell down, Winchester, _he told himself, closing his eyes and turning away from his friend to pull himself together. _You're not going to do any good if you go off now, Cas needs you. _

He felt his foot lash out at the plastic garbage can beside the television stand, sending it careening off the wall and across the room. It helped a bit.

He let out a harsh sigh, turning back to Castiel, who was now watching him cautiously.

"Whatever this shit is, Cas," he growled once he could speak without screaming. "We're gonna find it, and we're gonna gank it."

And he'd be _damned _if he didn't.

(**A/N:** Holy crap it's a plot! Hope you all have enjoyed chapter 6 :) There is more to come! I think Dean's starting to catch on... he's _almost _there! hehe.)


	7. Chapter 7

Dean couldn't move.

Well, that wasn't _entirely _true. He could move, but he wasn't sure if he should.

He waited for a moment, listening to the quiet of the room, then turned to look at the clock on the nightstand. The damned angel knife was partially blocking the glowing red digital read out of the clock, but he could see a six in front of it. Sometime between six and seven, then. The alarm was set for seven-thirty, so he was still safe- for the moment.

Once he was satisfied that he wasn't in immediate danger of being discovered in an awkward situation, he turned his head to what he had awoken to.

Lifting his head, he saw that Cas was still fast asleep (the guy seriously slept like a rock. Maybe he was making up for several millenia of not sleeping). Cas was turned toward him, his head resting against the right side of Dean's chest, his injured arm snaked loosely around Dean's waist. Even more awkward, Dean found that his arms had found their way around the slumbering fallen angel, their legs comfortably intertwined.

Dean peered suspiciously over the nightstand and saw that his brother was still fast asleep, snoring lightly with his back turned to them.

Oddly, in the relative privacy of being the only one currently conscious within the motel room, he found that he didn't really mind the proximity. It was weird being so close to Cas, but it was a comfortable kind of weird.

It reminded him of laying in bed with Lisa, on the nights that they were content just to lay in each other's arms, enjoying one another's company. Only, there was a pretense that he had felt when he was with Lisa. With her, it was a situation born of grief and obligation- a promise that he had made to live the apple-pie white-picket-fence life that his then cage-bound brother had wanted for him. He found that pretense missing here, wrapped around his best friend.

Woah, dude- hold up. This is _Cas_. This is the socially awkward holy tax accountant you're constantly ripping on for staring and invading your personal space. Also, if you hadn't noticed, he's kind of a _dude_.

Dean frowned. What the crap was going on in his head right now? Of _course_ Cas is a dude. No shit! The dude's been his best friend for like five years. So, what then? Did this mean he-

Nope. Got away again. Where were we?

Dean carefully shifted, untangling himself from Castiel and, as quietly as he could muster, padded to the bathroom.

Once the door was closed, he turned on the sink tap and splashed the cold water over his face, then stood staring at his reflection in the mirror with his hands braced on the counter.

_Come on, Winchester- think. It's right there, you're just choosing not to-_

Dean shook his head, trying to reboot his confused, sleep-addled brain.

Deciding he was up, he slipped back out into the room and grabbed a clean set of clothes from his duffel bag and crept back to the bathroom to shower.

Once the water was to his liking, he stepped in and let the warmth wash over him, ruminating on the previous night and (trying) not to think about what he'd woken up to and the thoughts that had followed.

_Because of you, Dean Winchester..._

Ramiel's words rang through his mind, her accusations that he had been the ultimate cause of Castiel's fall. He still saw the reasoning, and he didn't argue with it. He'd still gank the bitch, but she was right about that. The other angel bitch, the one that had berated him for Castiel's madness had said that his very touch corrupts, and he had a feeling she was right as well. It seemed like everything he cared about turned to crap.

_For the love of a _human_ my brother spiraled into depravity and rebellion..._

Dean tilted his head forward, letting the water create a curtain around his face as he brooded on the memory. Did Castiel love him? He supposed that he did, at least in the happy hippie 'love all God's creatures' way. He knew that Castiel trusted him, that he thought of him and Sam as his friends.

But _love_?

Dean groaned, banging his head on the shower wall in frustration. He turned the water off, wrapping a towel around his waist as he stepped back out onto the cool tile of the bathroom floor to dress.

This was confusing.

Despite his best efforts, his thoughts circled back to what had been drifting through his mind from almost the instant he woke up this morning. Did he find Cas attractive? He supposed he did. The stark contrast of Castiel's complex blue eyes against the dark brown and nearly constant bed-head hair, the mysterious and often puzzled expressions on his pale-

_Ugh! Knock it off, dude! You sound like a teenage girl!_

It's not like it's the first time he's found a guy attractive, but normally he'd pushed those thoughts away as quickly as they'd formed. Women were all he's known. But... this was Cas. His best friend. Maybe the only _real _friend he had left, aside from his brother- and even that had been shaky since he'd returned from Purgatory.

He didn't want to screw this up, whatever it was.

He'd lost Bobby, he'd lost Jo, and Ellen and Ash... Everyone he gave a damn about. There was Garth, but the vote was still out on the guy, even if he had proven to be a trustworthy ally. He didn't want to lose Cas just because he had a crush on the guy.

Oh, jeez. Damn it, there was no going back on it now, now that he had actually let the idea take root in his sorry excuse for a thought process.

He was going to have to face the fact that he might just be in love with his best friend.

[XXXXXX]

Sam slapped the alarm clock off, a moment later hearing the bathroom door open.

Pulling himself begrudgingly upright, he saw his brother wander back out into the room, tossing his toiletry kit back into his duffel and zipping it up, a troubled, brooding look on his face.

He watched Dean for a moment, noting that his brother seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he was awake. Dean wasn't exactly fond of mornings, but he was always awake and ready to go long before Sam was.

"Hey," he called as he swung out of bed. Dean finally looked over to him, the brooding expression never faltering even as a half-assed smile pulled across his face.

"Mornin' Sammy," Dean said distractedly as he gathered the rest of his things into his duffel bag, not that it was a whole lot, considering they'd only been checked in a couple hours before crashing.

Sam frowned, but figured Dean was probably still processing what had happened the night before, their encounter with Ramiel and the mad dash to get the hell out of town that followed. He remembered perfectly clear the things the angel had said to his brother, the accusations that she had made. He knew that Dean did, too. It was written all over his face, though neither of them had talked about it yet, and he doubted Dean would elect to do so himself.

Speaking of, he noticed Dean had fallen into one of his staring sessions, watching the still-sleeping Castiel, buried under the blankets on the other bed. Only...

Sam had to be seeing things. The brooding expression that had been on his brother's face when he had exited the bathroom was gone, replaced by one of quiet contemplation and... he was smiling?

A hundred observations from all over the last five years came crashing down on Sam all at once. The constant eye sex, Cas's creepy habit of appearing in Dean's personal space, the way Dean teased the angel over everything, Castiel showing up at odd hours of the night and watching Dean until he inevitably woke up.

How the hell had he missed that?

Holy crap.

Pretending he hadn't seen anything of the sort, Sam got to his feet and grabbed his duffel bag, pointedly not looking at his daydreaming brother. The movement seemed to snap Dean out of it, however.

"Make it quick," Dean said as Sam headed into the bathroom. "I wanna be out of here in an hour. And you know how long you girls like take getting ready to go anywhere."

Sam shot his brother a bitch-face, _so _tempted to shoot back with an off-hand comment about the sudden revelation that now seemed all too obvious that he wondered why he'd never seen it before now. Instead, he intentionally grumbled something incoherently as he let himself into the now vacant bathroom.

"What was that, Samantha? I can't hear you," Dean teased through the closed door.

Sam grinned to himself as he went through his morning routine. This probably wasn't the best time, seeing as they were apparently being hunted down by angels, but when _was _a good time, given the crap they dealt with on a constant basis?

Sam was determined to see this happen.

[XXXXXX]

Castiel was less than pleased to be woken up.

He was still sore all over from his injuries and wanted nothing more than to sleep for just a while longer.

Dean was being persistent, however, and he was correct that they needed to move on.

Grumbling in protest, he did as he was bade, slowly and carefully pushing himself upright. He still spared Dean a glare, narrowing his eyes at the smirking hunter looming over him.

"Morning, sunshine," Dean teased, ruffling his hair. Why did Dean find it so fascinating? That was the second time now he had done that.

"We're getting breakfast on the go today," Dean said as he turned to make sure that everything was in order. "I wanna make it to the cabin by tonight. That place is still sealed up tight, should be safe at least until we figure something out. How you feeling, by the way?"

Castiel frowned, giving the hunter a dull look. "I believe I feel 'like crap'."

Dean blinked at him, then laughed softly. Castiel frowned, tilting his head slightly as he regarded the hunter with curiosity. He had never heard Dean laugh like that. Had he used the slang term incorrectly? Usually when he did, Dean just looked at him oddly or smirked. This was lighter, and Castiel found himself smiling at the pure, honest sound.

He let Dean inspect the wound in his shoulder, which seemed to hurt more now than it had the previous night. The hunter had declared that it was 'looking good', which Castiel took to mean that it had begun healing well, and then re-wrapped it gently.

Once they had all addressed their morning needs, they packed what few belongings they had used in the time they'd been at the motel and headed out to the car.

"Hey," Sam said once they had their bags and supplies loaded into the trunk. "You wanna sit up front, Cas? I kind of want to do some research, I wouldn't mind the extra space in back."

Dean and Castiel both gave Sam a surprized look, as though he'd just offered to tie himself to the roof, rather than merely giving up the coveted 'shotgun'.

"I, uh.." Castiel articulated. Honestly he would love to sit up front beside Dean, but had only ever done so in Sam's absence, and didn't quite know how to react to the offer.

"Cool," Sam said, smiling as he slid into the back seat with his laptop case.

Castiel looked to Dean for guidance, but found that the other man was just staring back at him, dumbfounded.

Dean shrugged, the shock apparently wearing off as he slid into the driver's seat.

Castiel allowed himself a small smile, pleased that he had been allowed the seat of honor within Dean's beloved car.

Once they had picked up drive-through at 'anywhere but McDonald's' per Sam's request, Dean got back onto the highway heading east, on toward Whitefish, Montana.

(**A/N: **Sorry this one's kind of short, but the next part didn't quite fit with the chapter and I'm too anxious to watch the new episode to write it out in full, so I figured this was a good stopping point for now :) Awww Dean and yay Sammy! Now if only Cas would get a clue.. Let me know what you guys think so far! Reviews are the fuel that keep the fire burning the words onto the page, after all ;) Until next chapter!)


	8. Chapter 8

He found himself standing in a familiar place. He didn't know how he had ended up here, seeing as he was now Earth-bound, but he welcomed the sight nonetheless.

He smiled to himself as he took in the vibrant colours, a palette of green speckled with red, pink and white against a backdrop of endless blue sky, a garden as well maintained as it is loved.

Oh, how he had missed this place, this corner of Heaven that he had so often retreated to in order to be alone with his thoughts, or simply to enjoy the tranquility of the place. It was one of the few things he pined for, that he could no longer attain.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply the rich scent of wisteria, juniper, fresh cut grass and sun warmed wood. This unchanging place, forever a warm Tuesday afternoon, was his sanctuary. A paradise he sometimes shared with an autistic man who drowned in a bathtub in 1953.

He was aware that he was not, figuratively speaking, alone. Of course, this piece of Heaven belonged to the human soul that inhabited, but Castiel became aware of an angelic presence that was not his own. It was strange, he thought- he could sense the power emanating from his brother, but it was oppressive- it was not like he remembered, immediately sensing which of his brothers he found in his company.

He opened his eyes and searched for the source of that power, finding a familiar, welcome figure standing to his right, observing the scene as he did, with silent appreciation.

"Inias," Castiel said, smiling faintly.

Inias turned toward him, his vessel's eyes showing both sadness and relief. Inias, he felt, was much like himself before he had taken a vessel and joined the Winchesters. He was quiet, appreciative of the beautiful things that both their Father and humans had created, natural beauty, ingenuity. The mysteries of the world were not lost upon him.

Castiel frowned, becoming aware that something was not quite right. There was no way he could be here.

"You are dreaming, Castiel," Inias spoke softly, carrying a note of apology.

"I see," he said. Of course. He could not return to Heaven, now or ever again. Inias was visiting him in a dream. "This is... the first pleasant dream I have experienced. I am glad to see you, brother."

Inias gave him a wan smile, turning his attention to the sky as a simple, colourful kite took lazily to the air. Humans created such wonderful things.

"I admire your courage," he said after a long moment.

Castiel turned toward his brother, smiling ruefully. "I am a coward. I only did what was sensible. I murdered Samandriel."

Inias rounded on him, his eyes filled with divine fury. "NO! Castiel, You-"

Castiel watched him curiously. He felt no fear from his brother, but he saw that there was more that Inias would not, or perhaps could not say.

The angel's tone softened, the sadness returning to his doleful eyes. "It wasn't your fault."

Castiel sighed. He had secretly hoped that his brother might bring him answers.

"It was you who brought me to the Winchesters, after I fell."

"Yes. I could not leave you to suffer. I did not know what I would do, but when you spoke the human's name, I knew there was no other choice. You trust them," Inias held his eyes. It was a question as much as an observation. There was still so much that Inias didn't know of humans. Castiel thought that his brother would delight in the company of mortals, given the chance.

"Yes. I trust Dean and Sam with my life. They have always... been there for me."

He smiled again, knowing it was true. Dean, in particular, had always been there when he needed him, even if he had not taken advantage of that as often as he should have.

Inias quietly accepted this. There was no outward indication, merely a softening of his vessel's eyes. "You are in danger. Ramiel plots to kill you, your humans as well."

"I know," Castiel sighed. "She attempted to carry out her orders last night."

"Where are you, now? There is something I would like to give you and your... your friends."

Castiel regarded him in contemplation. Could he not simply come, as Ramiel had?

Inias shifted, looking somewhat embarrassed. Castiel smiled. The gesture was almost human. He loved and feared for his brother because of it. There were many of their... of _Inias' _kind who would not take kindly to such traits.

"There is something shielding you and your humans. No one has been able to detect you since you left the town in which you were attacked."

Castiel frowned, nodding. Of course. Dean would have done something to protect them, or possibly Sam. It was likely that one of them had placed wards in the car so that they would be relatively safe as they traveled to their next destination.

"The last I knew," Castiel said after pondering the question for a moment, trying to recall. "We had just exited the city of Spokane in Washington State, Eastward on interstate ninety."

Inias smiled. "I look forward to seeing you."

Castiel returned the smile. He looked forward to seeing his brother, as well- and any help they might acquire from him.

[XXXXXX]

Dean almost ran into the guard-rail when he heard Sam squeal from the back seat, his heart racing as he guided the Impala back between the lines of the highway, glancing in the rear view mirror. Sam had drawn his hunting knife and was pressed defensively against the back passenger door and there was someone else in the back seat with him, someone who looked bewildered and uncomfortable as he gazed out of the window with a look of shock and wonder.

Castiel, who had nodded off shortly after they left the gas station in Spokane, was now wide awake, smiling at the unexpected hitchhiker.

"I-Inias?!" Dean found himself stuttering, still not quite sure if he wasn't having a heart attack. "What the _hell?_"

Sam turned his eyes wildly toward Dean, trying in vain to keep the angel in his peripheral.

"Hello, Inias," Castiel greeted calmly, sounding pleased.

Inias turned toward the front of the car, and Dean couldn't help thinking as he saw his face in the rear-view of when he had taken Cas to that brothel, back when they had thought that he was going to die summoning Raphael. The angel looked freaked, and Dean figured it was probably because he'd never been in a car before, let alone one that was barreling down the highway at seventy miles per hour.

"Is-" Sam stuttered. "Is this a good thing?"

Dean saw Castiel turn and smile at Sam out of the corner of his eye. "Inias has not come to harm us, if that's what you're inferring."

"So what _is _Inias doing here," Dean fumed. He really hated angels, sometimes. They never call ahead.

The angel in question seemed to gather his wits, composing himself as he sat forward in the seat. "You should stop your vehicle," he said simply. Dean noticed warily that the angel looked a little green. That feathery bastard better not get sick in his Baby.

Muttering, Dean caught the next turn off, pulling into a rest stop along the highway and parking near the low brick building, shutting the engine off.

"All right," he said, turning back toward the angel. "Answers. Now."

Inias visibly relaxed once the car was stopped, sighing in what Dean could only assume was relief. "Ramiel is searching for you. You won't be safe out in the open, and the wards you are currently using on your vehicle are inadequate."

Inias reached out to Castiel, placing his middle and forefinger against Castiel's temple. He saw Cas wince in obvious pain before the angel pulled his hand away, moving the offending fingers to Dean next.

"Woah woah woah," Dean said, backing up as much as he could away from Inias's hand. "I don't do angel-whammies without prior consent."

"What did he do, Cas?" Sam had relaxed somewhat and was now merely cautiously aware of the newcomer.

"He is renewing the wards on your ribs, modifying what I had done when I hid you from Michael," Cas explained. "It's all right. I trust Inias. He is maybe the only one of my brothers that I find to still be worthy of trust."

Dean swore he saw the angel blush at the compliment.

"I only wish to help. Castiel was- is- a great inspiration to me. I do not wish to see him come to harm."

"Then why aren't you playing guardian angel?" Dean frowned, remembering when Inias had so unceremoniously dumped Cas off just over a week ago, begging him to take care of the fallen angel. "We sure as hell could've used some back up last night!"

Inias gave him a sad look, then turned back to Castiel. "I would if I were at liberty to do so. Things are... not as they once were, in Heaven. There are some of us who are against the new... methods."

Sam frowned, studying Inias. "What methods?"

The angel sighed in frustration. "I cannot say."

"Can't or won't?" Dean was sick of angel bullshit. With the exception of Cas, who wasn't even an angel anymore, he could care less if they all canaried in their damned clouds.

"Can't." It was Castiel who answered, not Inias. Dean raised an eyebrow at him, wondering just what the hell was going on, and if he'd missed some conversation between the two.

"As I said," Inias said with a rueful smile. "Things are not as they once were."

Dean sighed in resignation. The dude cared about Cas, and that mattered to Dean. What the hell, he wanted to help, so why not.

"Fine," he said, turning his eyes forward again and gripping the wheel in preparation. "Whammy away."

Inias nodded, lightly touching Dean's temple. The pain was immediate but thankfully brief, leaving his ribs feeling slightly itchy.

Once he had done the same to Sam, he turned to Castiel again, holding out a scroll of some sort. "Take this. Use this sigils to conceal yourself. I cannot guarantee your safety, but it should hide you well, so long as none of you call attention to yourselves."

"Thank you, Inias," Castiel smiled back.

"I will be in touch when I am able," the angel said, and then disappeared from the back seat in a flutter of unseen wings.

"Um, guys," Sam said, leaning forward. "What was that?"

"That," Dean said. "Was Inias. He's the one that helped with Kevin, remember?"

"Yeah, but," Sam struggled.

"He is an ally," Castiel said simply, as though this were all the explanation that was required.

"Yeah, well," Dean muttered, still a little rattled at the unannounced visit. "Least he could've done is patch you up before he flew off again."

Castiel drew himself up and scowled at him in such a way that Dean could almost see the powerful angel he had first met in the barn so long ago. "He came at great personal risk, Dean! I cannot ask him to do more than he is capable of!"

Dean put his hands up defensively. "All right, all right, jeez! I get it, dude did us a solid. I'm not complaining."

"Uh," Sam chided. "Actually you were."

"Shaddap, Sammy."

Sam smiled a bit, then turned to Castiel. "So, what did he give you?"

Castiel unrolled the old parchment, several symbols in Enochian inked on the yellowed page. The sigils were intricate, arranged in a way that Dean had never seen before.

"These are... very old," Cas said, frowning at the scroll in his hands. "Some of these have not been used in several millenia- I do not even recognize this one," he pointed to one of the symbols in the second ward.

"Will it work?" Sam was leaning over his shoulder now, intrigued by the ancient parchment.

"I have no reason to doubt Inias' intuition at this time," Castiel said, matter of factly.

Dean considered this for a moment, weighing what he knew about Inias against what he knew of Heaven's orders to have the three of them killed. Nodding, he opened the glove compartment, handing Cas a sharpie.

"Just," he said, biting his lip. "Don't put 'em on the leather or the glass."

Cas blinked, head tilted to the side, blue eyes on Dean's questioningly.

"Well," Dean muttered. "You've got the damned instructions, just take the damned pen!"

Castiel seemed to get the hint, nodding as he took the pen from Dean's hand, then stepped out of the car, marking the inside of the door where it joined to the frame.

Dean smiled. He could live with that. He would prefer to have it beneath the upholstery with the rest of the wards on the car, but they didn't have the time or the tools to do that here.

(**A/N:** Another little dash of plot! I adore Inias. I'm taking a lot of creative liberty with him, of course, but I'm working with the impression I got of him in the brief time he was on the show. I could see him very much taking a similar path to the one Castiel had taken- he seemed compassionate and truly caring of Castiel. I'm loving the comments, by the way! Some of you have been so sweet with your feedback. So much love!)


	9. Chapter 9

Dean was starting to get suspicious of his little brother.

Not only had Sam not only offered, but practically _forced _the front passenger seat on Castiel, but he hadn't offered to drive once during the long seven hour drive from Spanaway to Whitefish. When they had stopped for gas in Spokane, he had even picked up some of those cheap little pocket pies that Dean loved- one of each flavour, even, suggesting that he could share with Cas and see if the fallen angel liked them as much as he did.

They were now passing through Kalispell and Dean took the exit off of I-2 and onto I-93, less than twenty miles from Rufus's old cabin, which had in the last couple of years become an occasional sanctuary. It wasn't Bobby's house, but it was more permenantly fortified than a hotel room and it beat hanging out in the car forever.

After Inias had left them and Cas had finished putting the sigils on the frame of the car, Cas and Sam had poured over the crusty old parchment. Freakin' nerds. Sam had used the tether on his phone to search the web on his laptop, sending a couple of crappy mobile shots of the sigils to Garth for reference and further research. They didn't find much, but it was something to do.

Cas had nodded off again and Sam's laptop had run out of juice, and so had he had shut it down, now resting his head back against the window sort of half-napping.

Dean didn't want to outright admit that he was thankful to Inias. He was still kind of ticked off about the whole ditching Cas thing and then almost causing him to run Baby off the road when he'd suddenly appeared. But, he figured, they needed the help where they could get it. They didn't really know what they were up against, and he wondered what, other than ditching the rank and file and going AWOL for good, Castiel had done to piss Heaven off so bad.

His thoughts were interrupted by a faint sound from his right. He glanced over to Castiel and saw a troubled look on the sleeping angel's face, eyes still shut, brow furrowed, mouth slack and slightly open. He whimpered softly and Dean saw him jerk a bit, though otherwise Cas didn't stir.

Dean frowned, wondering idly if Inias could visit Castiel in his dreams, if other angels might be able to somehow harm his angel while he slept.

Dean checked the road, then leaned over a bit, brushing his fingers through Castiel's hair lightly as he had done on occasion when Sam had been sick or upset or frightened when his brother was still very young.

He smiled to himself when it seemed to do the trick, and Cas had quieted again- shifting into a more comfortable position and burrowing into his jacket, seeming contented. It had just been a nightmare, nothing to worry about.

Catching himself in the act of another chick-flick moment, his eyes shot to the rear-view mirror, but Sam still seemed to be out of it, so he was good.

Letting out a brief sigh of relief, he put both hands back on the wheel. He was really going to have to knock this shit off. The more he thought about it, the less rational it became. Probably all it was, he figured, was that he just needed to get laid. He hadn't gone out to a bar for anything more than a drink in _ages_. He liked Cas, sure, and even let himself admit that he thought Cas was kind of hot- for a little nerdy dude. But there was no way it was more than that, right? And besides, Cas used to be an angel. There was no way Cas would ever see their relationship as anything more than just plutonic.

He was so deep in thought he'd almost missed the turn-off for Wisconsin Avenue, barely even having registered they'd already made it into Whitefish. He felt a little guilty as he took the turn a bit too sharply and woke his passengers.

He heard Sam stretch and groan from the back. "There already?"

"Just about," Dean confirmed, shaking off his thoughts. "Should be there in about half an hour. Think we ought to hit the store before we head up? I don't remember what all we had the last time we were up here."

"Probably a good idea," Sam agreed. "It's been a couple months."

Dean nodded, pulling in to the parking lot of the first shopping centre they found that had a grocery store. Dean figured they were going to be in Montana for a week or two at least, provided nothing came up that required them to move on. If they were going to be stationary, it just made more sense to stock up than keep picking up their meals from a diner.

Castiel eyed the market dubiously as they drove down the aisles of the lot. It was only five-thirty local time (even though the clock in the Impala's dash still stubbornly proclaimed that it was six-thirty), and the store was teeming with people. Dean had to stifle a laugh when he had the sudden hilarious image of Castiel as a stereotypical angel, wings and halo and all, looking grumpy with his feathers all ruffled in irritation.

The fallen angel caught the sound, however, and turned over his shoulder, giving the hunter an epic bitch face. Holy crap, he needed to stop letting him spend so much time with Sam- he was getting way too good at that.

Dean just grinned back at him. "Morning, sunshine," he greeted as he pulled the car into a parking spot as near to the door as he could find.

"Is that some sort of 'pet name'," Castiel groused as he pulled himself upright in the seat.

Dean blinked at the the fallen angel, pointedly ignoring his brother's snickering as the moose vacated the back seat. He could never really tell when Cas was exorcizing his limited grasp of sarcasm, but he had a feeling this might be one of those moments. To save face, he decided to ignore it as he got out of the car.

Castiel seemed mortified by the store once they were in it, all the nine-to-fivers doing their shopping on their way home from work. Dean found himself somewhat amused by Castiel's reaction to the crowd. He'd never seemed to mind it so much when he was still an angel, but Dean figured the whole dealing with new emotions and being human thing was probably still overwhelming him. He hadn't exactly been exposed to much beyond the motel room and the every day personal aspects of humanity, and he still didn't have jack for social skills.

He noticed that Cas had fallen back into his human shadow routine, sticking close to Dean's side during the entire shopping adventure, watching the after-work crowd soccer moms and IT guys mill about the aisles while they filled their own cart with the staples that would stock the cabin for a few weeks.

They were on the freezer aisle now, and Sam had gone back to the produce section to retrieve some 'you-know-whats' (they couldn't even say the word 'tomato' around Cas without the fallen angel giving them a disgusted look. Not that Dean didn't do it once in a while, just to pick on him).

Dean was eyeing a box of hot wings when Cas suddenly grabbed his hand.

"Dean!"

Dean tensed, ready for a fight. Was it demons? Had the angels found them? He reached for his knife, but when he turned around, he saw that Cas was just looking at him, a hopeful, longing look of purely childish excitement on his face as he pointed at a box of frozen White Castle burgers.

Dean just stared at him, dumbfounded. So what if he started laughing his ass off, it was freaking hilarious! When the hopeful look melted off Castiel's face, morphing into one of quiet confusion and mayble slightly hurt, Dean lost it completely.

He was in Tears when Sam came back, dropping his items into the basket. The sasquatch was just looking between him and the fallen angel who was, oh my lord, he was pouting. Dean couldn't breathe.

"Wha- Dean?" Sam gave Castiel a questioning look. "What happened to him?"

Castiel looked so lost, appalled really, that when Dean tried to draw a breath he snorted.

Sam gave him a worried look.

"I think he is being attacked," Castiel stated.

Dean finally drew in a breath, resting his hands on his knees for a moment and shaking his head. "No... I'm.. I'm fine..." He grinned as he stood upright, opening the freezer door and grabbing two boxes of the damned burgers because, why the hell not? He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed like that, and despite his aching sides, it felt good.

Castiel still had a confused look on his face, but he seemed pleased, and that was all Dean needed.

[XXXXXX]

An hour and a half later, they were finally at the cabin, their purchases put away and the new wards put in place. They were now seated at the table, Sam again glued to his laptop as they enjoyed a late dinner.

Castiel still didn't quite understand Dean's outburst in the market, but it had been quite the subject of discussion long after they had left. It seemed that he had been the cause of Dean's laughter, much to his confusion, though Dean had assured him that he was laughing 'with' him and not 'at' him, whatever that meant. He supposed that, in retrospect, Dean's fit of laughter had been quite hilarious in itself.

He found himself impressed with the meal that Dean had prepared. It was quite different from the things they had eaten at the motel and on the road, and he found it satisfying. He didn't understand why Dean had smirked, or the look he exchanged with Sam when he had confirmed that yes, he enjoyed the spaghetti very much.

"You know what goes great with spaghetti, Cas?" Dean had just sat down with his second helping and had brought back with him to the table a bottle of wine.

Sam looked at his brother warily. "Dude, you're not..."

"Come on, Sammy! Lighten up," the elder Winchester said as he filled three glasses. "It's been a long freaking week, we deserve a little real down-time. Besides, Cas is a big boy. It's fine."

Castiel eyed the glass, then the the hunter. "Wine?"

Sam sighed, bearing the expression that Castiel had come to know of as the one he used when he had given up on something Dean was doing that was likely dubious but essentially harmless.

"Merlot. Goes good with pasta," Dean explained.

"When did you become a wine expert," Sam eyed his brother skeptically.

"What? I read," Dean protested. "Besides, sometimes it's beneficial to know these things."

Sam rolled his eyes, taking a drink from his glass. "Only you would memorize wine pairings for _that _reason."

"What can I say," Dean grinned at his brother. "I'm an expert."

Castiel had no idea what they were referring to, but then again the elder Winchester frequently used pop culture references. He had picked up on some of these in the time he had known the man, but for every one he understood, it seemed there were hundreds more that eluded him.

Castiel lifted his glass and tasted the dark crimson liquid tentatively. It was bitter at first, but as it passed his tongue it became sweet and faintly tart. He found that past the initial bitterness of the wine, he actually rather liked it.

"Not bad, huh?" Dean was watching him. Castiel suspected that the hunter was up to something.

Castiel was on his third glass of wine by the time they had finished dinner, despite Sam's admonishment that he 'slow down'. He didn't think he was consuming it too quickly, and so he ignored the younger Winchester's advice. What did he know, anyway? Castiel was older than dirt. Well, maybe not dirt, but certanily older than Sam.

"Uh, what?" Sam stared, dumbfounded at him when Castiel informed him of this fact.

Dean was snickering at his brother. "Wow, somebody's a surly drunk..."

"Don't call me Shirly, _Dean_."

Even Sam laughed at that. He sighed, taking his coveted glass with him as he decided suddenly that he did not like the air in the cabin while Sam was breathing it and spitting his words into it. For some reason, he found the sound of Sam's voice to be grating at the moment.

He cursed the floor in Enochian as it continually inched it's way to the left, trying to throw him off balance. He made his way to the door despite the floor's best efforts, and contented himself to sit on the steps in front of the cabin.

After a few minutes of peaceful solitude in which he found that his glass had become empty, he became aware that Dean had joined him on the porch, dropping down beside him on the step. Sam had, bless him, remained indoors.

"So," the elder Winchester said, taking a pull from the bottle of beer he had acquired between the table and the door. "How are you doing, really?"

"I'm fine," Castiel murmured. He didn't really feel like talking about 'feelings' just now. They were troublesome, and he missed not having to deal with the burden of complex emotions.

"Really? Coz, uh," the hunter continued, gazing up into the still evening sky. "You've been moping. Like, a lot."

Castiel frowned. Moping? He searched his new dictionary of emotions and found it listed near 'moody'. Of course he was moping. He had fallen, and now his brethren wanted him _and _the Winchester brothers dead. He felt as though he had every right to mope, and told Dean so.

Dean smiled, chuckling softly. "Remind me never to give you alcohol again," he said, Castiel thought, rather pointlessly.

The hunter looked to the ground, sighing softly. Castiel turned his head curiously to watch the other man.

"Look, Cas," Dean said. "I know you're dealing with a lot of crap, but you know, you still have us. It's not all that bad, is it?"

"It sucks," Castiel intoned, earning a surprized look of amusement from Dean. "But," he continued. "It is better with you here with me. I don't know if I would be able to handle this without you, Dean. Or without Sam..."

Dean watched him, holding his eyes for a long moment without saying anything. Castiel was suddenly aware it was making him a little uncomfortable, the way the hunter was watching him. There was something stirring that he couldn't put a name to. He had felt similarly since he had known him, over the last week since he had become human especially, only in the presence of Dean. But being alone beneath the stars, the way the light from the window fell and cast shadows across his face...

He felt light headed and his heart seemed to miss a beat every so often as it drummed a staccato in his chest. He frowned as he tried to identify it, to perhaps draw a conclusion from his talks with Sam on the matter, but nothing was coming to him.

He had lost himself trying to define this sudden, confusing new sensation. He decided that it wasn't unwelcome, it felt something not unlike anxiety, but there was something succinctly pleasant about the sensation. He had become so distracted by his thoughts that he was utterly unprepared for what happened next.

Dean had moved closer to him, reaching a hand and turning Castiel's face back to his own. Castiel caught a brief flash of intense gold-flecked green eyes that seemed for an instant to pierce him. He felt his breath catch- an irrational reaction, he pondered briefly- and then he felt the hunter's lips against his own, warm and positively sizzling with an energy that Castiel had never felt.

His eyes went wide in surprize. What just happened? Dean was kissing him. Why was Dean kissing him? _I think I like this, very much..._

Just as he was beginning to grasp what was happening, he felt Dean slip away. He stared numbly at the hunter, not entirely certain how he should react. Should he do something? Say something?

Dean's expression slowly went from expectant to nervous, and from there declined to outright terror as he looked away, pulling himself up from the step.

"Sorry," he murmured quietly, turning to go back in as his expression darkened.

Castiel reacted purely instinctively, the effects of the wine blown away by the brief, chaste kiss. He was vaguely aware that if Dean walked away, he would never experience _that _again, and he decided that he was fairly sure that he wanted to.

He stood, grabbing Dean by the front of his jacket as the hunter ascended the stairs. He had to be certain his hunter wasn't going anywhere, and that he would get the message very clear. He knew that Dean often did not take things well or as intended unless he was told in blunt terms.

Castiel pushed Dean against the frame of the door, gripping the lapels of his flannel shirt and, employing what he had learned from the Pizza Man years before, he returned Dean's gesture of affection.

He felt the hunter tense at the sudden assault. Castiel wondered for a moment if he had miscalculated, but his fears were assuaged a moment later when he felt the other man relax, reciprocating the kiss. It was warm and wet and tasted of wine, spaghetti and beer- and something uniquely _Dean _that sent a wonderful shiver over his skin.

When they finally broke away, Dean was staring at him. Castiel was irritated that he found he had difficulty catching his breath, until he noticed that Dean seemed to have the same problem.

Castiel was beginning to think once again that he had made a mistake, but then Dean simply stepped forward, putting his arms around him. He found that he enjoyed the warmth, much as he had come to enjoy sleeping beside the hunter, though (and he hadn't found it in himself to admit this) he no longer really felt he _needed _Dean in order to sleep.

"Wow," was all Dean said.

Castiel smiled to himself as he rested his head against Dean's shoulder.

For the first time since falling, his heart felt light, and he rejoiced that he had found this in his favourite human.

.

(**A/N: **Aaah all that fluff! I was going to save the last bit for a while, but it was so coming. Dean was getting impatient lol. Drunk!Cas is so surly it's adorable. Also, the joke about spaghetti- Cas apparently hates tomatoes. What is spaghetti sauce made from? :P Hope ya'll enjoyed the bounty of squish :P until next chapter!)

(**2nd A/N: **idk what's up with the site not showing this chapter... usually it links right away, so I'm hoping that deleting/reposting the chapter fixes the problem. It was weird, I couldn't even get to the link from email. Disconcerting, to say the least.)


	10. Chapter 10

Dean had really just gone out to check on Cas after the drunk, surly fallen angel had stumbled outside. He hadn't expected him to get far, and he was right- Cas was sitting on the porch when he got there, glaring at the empty glass in his hands as though it had just done him the greatest offense known to man.

He had sat down next to the mopy angel, just intending to have a chat. He had conceded that getting Cas drunk was probably a bad idea after his brother bitched him out for letting him wander outside, but he still insisted that Cas was hilariously surly when he'd had a few drinks. This was mostly, of course, due to the fact that all of Castiel's intoxicated ire seemed to be directed at Sam.

"Given the fact that I have fallen," Cas had said in response when Dean had pointed out that the angel had been 'moping'. "And the fact that my brothers are trying to kill us, I believe I have the right to 'mope'" Dean chuckled as Castiel punctuated the word with his infamous finger quotes.

"Remind me never to give you alcohol again," he told the fallen angel, who responded with a squint-eyed glare. "Look, Cas," he sighed. "I know you're dealing with a lot of crap, but you know, you still have us. It's not all that bad, is it?"

Castiel turned away from him, settling into a brooding look.

"It sucks," Dean had to bite his tongue to keep himself from laughing at the expression. Every time Cas said something out of character like that... "But... it is better with you here with me. I don't know if I would be able to handle this without you, Dean. Or without Sam..."

Dean's thoughts were derailed, and all the humor of the situation suddenly evaporated.

Castiel turned back toward him and Dean found himself locked by that gaze, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of the angel's soul in those depthless blue eyes. He could see all the pain and confusion that Cas had felt since waking up in their motel room in Washington, a broken and wounded mess. They weren't the eyes of the angel he had known. They were the eyes of the man he'd met in 2014- the man who had once been an angel, who had fallen for a lost cause and an even more lost idiot who couldn't even see what was right in front of him. A man whose only comfort in a world going to hell had been to drown himself in drugs and women.

His heart broke looking at his angel, now caught somewhere between Castiel, Angel of the Lord and Cas, zombie-fighting stoner-hippie from the future.

Castiel turned away, seeming deep in in thought, and Dean thought he could see him breaking just a little more. He didn't think at that point, his hand moving without his consent as he moved a couple inches closer, turning Castiel back to look into his eyes. What the hell, why not. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against his angel's. It was brief, chaste, no porno tongue or anything- the last thing he wanted to do was scare Cas away.

_Crap, what am I doing? Oh well, it's too late now._

He pulled away, watching Castiel for any sign of reaction.

Cas was staring back at him, baffled, saying nothing.

Dean's heart sank. _Great, _he thought. _Way to fuck that up, Winchester. You just created the mother of all awkward situations with your best friend._

"Sorry," he said. He needed to get away from this mess he'd created, needed to run away. Cas would probably never even look at him again and oh God you sound like a girl right now.

He stood, not looking at Cas as he turned to go back inside. He was half tempted to just get into the Impala and drive off the nearest cliff, but he'd left his keys in his jacket, and that was inside, and-

Dean sensed Castiel's movement before he even registered that the fallen angel was no longer sitting on the step. He turned as Cas grabbed him by his shirt and jerked him around, away from the door, and Dean was nearly awed to see that it was Castiel, angel of the Lord in front of him again, his hands fisted in his shirt, shoving him back against the door, his eyes filled with Heaven's wrath.

_Shit, _he thought. _Don't piss off the nerd angels..._

He braced himself, but the only thing that struck him was Castiel's lips, rough and insistant.

When he realised he wasn't in danger of being smote by the former celestial and the shock of what was happening wore off, he relaxed, letting his eyes slip closed as he returned the kiss.

_Oh my god I'm kissing a dude and it's my best friend and it's Cas and holy hell I _like _it._

Cas surprized him by slipping him the porno tongue and holy crap where did he learn to do _that_? Dean was beginning to realise he had seriously misunderstood his angel.

He found himself breathless when it was over, his mind a complete blank as he stared back at Castiel. He couldn't find any words in the hurricane of syllables wreaking havok in his mind.

But words weren't what he needed right now, were they? They hadn't needed words for this, and they didn't need words now.

Dean stepped away from the door, not really sure what he was going to do until he was doing it. He just stood there, arms around his angel, and said the most profound thing he could come up with, given the situation.

"Wow."

[XXXXXX]

Sam was instantly concerned when he heard the dull thud from the general direction of the door.

Picking up his pistol, he went to the window nearest the door and pulled the curtain aside, just enough to peek out. Needless to say, he was pretty astonished at what he saw. He had figured that if and when it ever happened, it'd be the other way around, rather than Cas slamming Dean up against the wall like that.

He immediately felt like a peeping tom, letting the curtain fall and turning his back on the window almost the instant he had registered what was happening.

Right, research. He saw nothing.

He smiled anyway as he shook his head and sat back down at the table to respond to Garth's question about the Enochian scroll.

Garth wanted to know how they'd got their hands on something so obscure, but Sam wasn't sure he wanted to get into that without consulting Cas, first. They didn't really have any good excuse for having it in their possession. He couldn't exactly tell Garth that an angel of the Lord had given it to them.

'Not the point at the moment,' he typed. 'Any of your contacts dig anything up about what it means?'

He hit send, staring at the screen. Given everything they'd been through with angels beyond Castiel, he still wasn't sure that he could trust it completely. Even Cas, in the beginning, had been kind of a dick.

Inias seemed decent enough, but Dean was better at reading the angels than he was. He trusted his brother's judgement, and Castiel trusted him, but even the angel had said that Heaven wasn't what it used to be.

He was pretty sure there had been some shady business in regards to what happened to Castiel before he fell, the whole thing with Samandriel was proof enough of that. He knew Cas well enough to know something was seriously wrong with him that night.

He and Dean had discussed it, both before and after, but they just didn't have any answers.

He had never really given it much though before, but he realised that he had never exactly been comfortable with Castiel until after he turned up in their motel room in Washington a week ago. It wasn't exactly that he didn't trust the angel- quite the opposite, really. He'd done them more favours in the time they'd known him than he could count. But Castiel wasn't human, something he was constantly reminded of. The power that the angel possessed was terrifying. Power enough, at one point, to even declare himself a God.

He had wanted to hate Castiel when the angel had broken the wall in his mind. He still felt a little resentment, he supposed, but Cas had just looked so pitiful when he finally came to them for help, when he'd tried to fix his mistake, and Dean had just seemed so ... hurt, when they had thought he was gone.

Cas was good for his brother, he concluded. It shifted some of the responsibility that Dean felt to protect his little brother. Sam always appreciated Dean being there, but he wanted something good for his brother, as well. He may never live the 'apple pie' life, but that didn't mean he couldn't have something tangible.

Sam smiled sadly to himself. He was such a hypocrite. He himself had given up a chance at something good to stand by his brother. As messed up as the situation with Amelia was, she would have stayed with him if he had chosen to go back that night. But he hadn't, and he had moved on as though nothing had happened.

He sat up quickly when he heard the door open, leaning closer to the screen in an attempt to make it look like he was working as Dean and Cas came back inside. He couldn't help glancing out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to be indifferent.

Neither one of them said a word. Sam didn't figure Dean would say anything, least of all admit anything. That just wasn't how Dean worked. He would probably just let Sam 'find out' at some point, pretending there was nothing at all going on between him and Cas. That was just typical Dean. He was pretty sure Dean knew that he wouldn't care. Sam had seen his brother discretely check guys out before, so he was pretty sure that Dean was at the very least bi-curious. He liked to stick to his assigned roles, though- part of him would always be that good little soldier that dad had hammered him into.

"Sammy," he snapped his head up to where his brother stood, facing him. Cas was nowhere in sight, but Sam figured he'd just gone into the room. "You and Garth find anything yet?"

Sam turned a tired smile toward his brother. "Not yet. Garth's still checking with his contacts. I think I'm gonna call it a night, though... it's probably going to take a while."

"Yeah, me too," Dean said, casual as ever as he headed toward the bedroom door. "G'night, Sammy."

"Night..."

Sam smiled again. Dean was being _too _casual. He could see right through his brother. He knew that Dean was nervous as hell and probably having some sort of identity crisis.

He shut down his laptop and crossed the room to the couch when a terrifying thought struck him, and suddenly he was wondering if he would live to regret his decision to advocate whatever it was that Dean had going on with Castiel.

_Oh well, _he thought as he drifted off to sleep, suddenly dreading what may or may not be going on behind the closed door of the bedroom. _Too late now._

(**A/N_:_**Ugh, idk what's going on with the site- hopefully this goes up and clears up whatever was happening with the last chapter! I know now I'm not the only one that happened to, though- when I uploaded chapter 9 it registered on the management page and showed up on the preview, but it wasn't connecting on the live version :( Hopefully it's fixed, who knows- maybe it's just an issue with the site. I'm hoping that's all it is, anyway. Anyway, until next chapter!)


	11. Chapter 11

Dean counted it as a blessing in disguise that Castiel had passed out almost the instant his head had touched the pillow.

Once the elation of their impromptu make-out session and the slight buzz of the wine had worn off, Dean had found himself wondering just what in the _hell _he had been thinking. He had only _just _begun to entertain the idea, the purely random (or so he told himself) notion that he _might, possibly, maybe _be interested in Cas as more than just a friend.

What had he been trying to do, anyway, when he had kissed Castiel?

Dean let out a frustrated sigh, scrubbing his palms over his face as he lay on his back in the bed. Everything had just been so freaking _weird _lately, and he wasn't sure he could handle it. Then again, this was Cas. The former angel probably didn't even fully grasp what had happened, and had probably just been emulating something he'd seen on television.

_Screw this, _he thought to himself, deciding that laying in bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling beside one hell of an awkward situation that _he _had created wasn't going to make him feel any better about the whole thing. It was still early, a little before eleven, and what he really needed was a little alcohol and a lot of affirmation to soothe his panicking machismo.

Carefully, he crawled out of bed and pulled on his jeans, slipping into his boots and moving quietly as he hastily vacated the room. Tip-toeing past the slumbering moose on the sofa, he grabbed his jacket and keys and very calmly escaped to the Impala.

_Just a couple of drinks, _he thought to himself as he coaxed the engine to life, steering his mind around the real reason for his sudden decision to hit a bar in the middle of a week night.

_I am __**not **__desperate_, he assured himself fiercely. But if he was completely honest with himself, wasn't this exactly what this was? Wasn't he running away because the implications of what had happened between him and Castiel were now scaring the ever-loving shit out of him?

_There's nothing un-manly about this, dammit! _But why did he feel so guilty? He shouldn't get so worked up about it, he decided. What good would it do? He just needed to blow off some steam, have a couple drinks and maybe, just maybe, he'd meet 'Ms. Right-For-Tonight' while he was at it.

He felt as though he had committed the greatest trespass on both himself and on Castiel. Cas, he decided, didn't know what he was doing. It was a human thing, a thing the former angel never fully understood. Castiel had done the same with Meg that one time, it meant nothing- just something he saw in a freaking porno for God's sake.

Why the fuck did he feel so trapped?

Maybe Cas wouldn't even remember it in the morning.

Maybe the Beatles would get back together.

He pulled up in front of the first lively looking honkey-tonk bar he came across in Whitefish proper and swaggered in, instantly loving the atmosphere of the place.

It was your typical dive; old wooden tables and chairs strewn about the cramped space, a couple of pool tables off to one side under low swinging flourescent lamps. At the back of the bar was a raised stage to accommodate live music, but tonight it was occupied only by a half dozen drunk co-eds dancing to the jaunty vocals of Axl Rose.

The whole place was pretty packed for being the middle of the work week, but that was by no means a bad thing as far as Dean was concerned.

Dean settled himself at the bar, ordering himself a tall, hard drink. He immediately began panning the crowd, singling out any ladies who seemed to be out on their own and fit within the (rather broad) spectrum of what Dean thought of as attractive.

_Bartender's pretty cute, _he smiled at her as she set his drink in front of him, earning a flirty smile in return. She was blonde, her hair loose in meticulously crafted curls that fell lazily over her pale, slender shoulders. He wasn't that into blondes, but he wouldn't turn one down.

His eyes wandered the bar for a moment, settling on a brunette with short bed-head hair and chocolate brown eyes. She wasn't a total knock-out or anything, but she looked like she had an abundance of character and held herself with the kind of confidence that Dean figured could make even the most plain girls seem to sparkle.

Once his drink was in hand, he moved closer to where she leaned against the bar, leaning on one elbow beside her, plastering his best grin on his face until he had her attention.

She gave him a bemused, questioning look, the corners of her small mouth quirking upward with wary interest.

"You must be exhausted " he said, flashing a few teeth in his most winsome smile. The sparkle in her eyes didn't quite turn into a laugh at the start of the terrible pick-up line, and he figured he was on a roll.

"Why's that," she played along, humoring him as she turned toward him, playing with the neon pink straw in her neon blue beverage.

"Well," he chuckled, following up. "You've been running through my mind all day."

She did laugh then, shaking her head as though she couldn't believe he'd actually gone all the way with it. Dean knew better, though. He knew that he was freaking adorable when he wanted to be, and cheesy lines only ever furthered his cause.

"Does that ever actually work?" She raised an eyebrow at him, smiling wryly.

He smiled back, leaning in a bit. "Does it?"

Her contemplative silence didn't distract him. He'd already won, and in knowing so he kept his grin in place, waiting her out.

"Hannah," she said. "You can buy me a drink to make up for the corny line."

"Hannah," he repeated, waiting just long enough to continue to allow her cheeks to flush. "I would be _honoured _to buy you a drink. Name's Dean."

Oh, he was so going home with this one.

[XXXXXX]

Castiel was rudely awakened to far too much bright light and someone repeating his name over and over. The voice was deep and resonant, thick with urgency and utterly _annoying_. It cut through his skull like a mace.

"Sam," he murmured into the pillow. "If you do not leave at once, I will smite you." His skull felt as though it had been placed in a vice and Sam's voice was turning the crank, applying unwelcome pleasure. Why was Sam waking him in the first place?

"Dean's gone, and he's not answering his phones," Sam's voice was slightly beyond worry and encroaching on panicky. "The Impala's gone, too."

Castiel slowly remembered how locomotion was supposed to work, levering himself upon his elbows and staring at Sam through narrowed eyes. "Where did he go?"

Sam's frown deepened into a scowl. "If I knew, I wouldn't have woken you up!"

Castiel sighed, exasperated, and flopped back down on his face. There was a nagging at the back of his skull about the words Sam had spoken, but through the fog in his brain he couldn't make sense of why it had been so urgent.

He heard Sam growl in frustration, then stomp out of the room. He let his muddled thoughts settle once more, though they had barely begun to tick regardless.

The respite did not last, however, because just as Castiel felt sleep begin to claim him once more, he heard the heavy, boot-clad gait of Sam stomping back into the room. Just as he was registering this fact and preparing a creative way to smite the honking giant, he found himself cold, wet and fully alert, jerking upright into a half sitting position as he sputtered through a face-full of water.

Sam stood over him, scowling righteously. In his right hand he held an empty glass, and his left threatened with another, filled with water.

"You awake now?" Sam raised an eyebrow at him, swishing the full glass dangerously, promising that if Castiel did not cooperate, he would have no compunctions against administering more of the brutal torture.

Castiel frowned, noting that something was missing.

"Where's Dean?"

Sam rolled his eyes, thrusting the glass still containing water at him.

"Here, drink some water. It'll help."

Castiel eyed the younger Winchester dubiously, then took the glass and sipped the cool liquid. The water did ease him some, settling the thick feeling at the back of his throat and clearing his thoughts to a degree.

"I thought maybe you two might've had an argument or something," Sam said, running his fingers back through his mane- something Castiel noticed that he did when he was worried or nervous.

Castiel was nonplussed. "Why would you think that he and I had argued?"

Sam gave him an uncertain look, folding his arms over his chest. Castiel stared back, utterly confused. Certainly, there had been some tension the previous night. Castiel remembered his own dark thoughts (though he could not remember precisely what those thoughts were- a troubling realisation). He remembered also his interactions with Dean on the porch. Was this the reason for Sam's concern?

Castiel looked away first.

"Did he say anything to you?" Sam's tone was softer.

Castiel contemplated this, not certain what Sam was asking. Dean had said many things, but nothing that seemed pertinent as to why he may have left the cabin unannounced.

Dean also frequently left on his own without Sam worrying over him. But then why _was _Sam worried? He remembered then that the younger Winchester had said that Dean had not been answering his calls, and it finally settled in. Dean had left on his own without a word and was now unaccounted for.

"Look," Sam sighed. "I _know_. God, so stupid. He probably freaked out on you..."

Castiel frowned. "I don't recall Dean 'freaking out'."

"Trust me," Sam gave him a tired smile. "He's freaking out. He's never, you know... at least, I don't _think _he has... never with another guy..."

"You're referring to when Dean kissed me," Castiel guessed.

Sam's expression made a curious spasm as his face turned red. He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "Um, Cas?"

"Yes?" Castiel tilted his head, wondering at Sam's reaction.

"How do you," Sam began, seeming to measure his words. "How do you feel about Dean?"

Castiel blinked, surprised at the question. He had thought it was clear that he trusted Dean, that he counted Sam's brother as a friend. Moreso than he did Sam himself, but it was different. Dean was his charge, when he had been an angel. They shared a more profound bond because of it, and though he found the elder Winchester exasperating, he felt himself comforted in Dean's presence.

Sam sighed, sensing Castiel's confusion at the question. "What I mean to say is, what do you feel when you're, uh, with him?"

"I trust your brother, Sam," Castiel said after he had pondered this for a moment. "I have seen his soul laid bare and felt it's purity. Dean is truly the most righteous man I have ever met in all my time on Earth and he is beautiful because of this. He exasperates and confounds me incessantly, but he has had more faith in me than any other and for that I appreciate him."

Sam looked impressed by his answer, but Castiel was still uncertain if this was what the younger Winchester had meant.

Sam shook his head and smiled, trying again. "Do you have any idea what it means to kiss someone like that?"

"It is a show of affection, is it not?" Castiel was confused by where this line of conversation was leading. Had he been mistaken, after all?

"Well," Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck; a gesture that Castiel interpreted as one of awkwardness. Was this one of those 'awkward conversations'? Humans were confusing and overly complex. "Yes," he confirmed after a moment. "Yes, it is a show of affection, Cas, just.. it's kind of one of those things that... God, I can't believe I'm having this conversation with someone who's several millennia older than me..."

Castiel watched Sam, waiting. He felt worry writhe its way into the pit of his stomach, suddenly afraid that it had been because of him that Dean had left unannounced.

"Well," Sam continued finally. "Usually people only kiss like that when they, um, you know... love each other."

"But I do love your brother," Castiel argued. He loved both of the Winchesters. They were like family to him, they cared for him, filled the void that had been left when he fell. The void that had began when his brethren had turned against him. How could he not love them?

"I mean, like, _romantic_ love." Sam gave him a pointed look, and suddenly it became clear. Castiel understood the concept of romantic love, but he had never before been a party to it. He understood that love and fornication were often two separate concepts, as well, and he also understood in that moment why Dean may have been upset following their moment of intimacy.

"Your brother is in love with me." It was a question as much as a statement. Dean had been his friend, and the realization that Dean's affection for him may now transcend the platonic friendship they had shared did nothing to decay Castiel's feelings toward the man. Humans clung to social roles, however, and Dean had always been of the type to prefer the company of women for romantic intimacy.

"The question is," Sam sighed, sitting beside the former angel on the edge of the bed. "do you love him?"

Castiel pondered the question for a moment. Certainly he did love Dean Winchester, but that wasn't what Sam was asking. This was not a question of the type of love that Castiel had been capable of, but the kind of love that _humans _were capable of. He knew that he was now capable of experiencing any number of these emotions, reactions that he had never experienced as an angel. But how could he identify whether or not he was _in _love?

"I look forward to your brother's company. I also enjoy kissing your brother. Is this romantic?" Castiel raised an eyebrow, wondering if this was what Sam had meant, or if he was off the mark yet again.

Sam's eyes widened at the statement, coughing lightly into his fist as he averted his eyes.

"I, uh... sort of?"

Castiel frowned, considering this answer, searching himself as he put together everything that he and Sam had discussed over the last several minutes.

It didn't take long, however, and Castiel finally knew what his emotions had been trying to tell him all this long, troubling time.

"Yes. I love him."

.

(**A/N: ** Angst, hungover!Cas and awkward conversations! Wee! BIG HUGE thanks to Ninjakittee for beta-ing this chapter! And as always, squishes and hugs to everyone who reviewed. You guys are like pie- can't go on without you! :D {{hearts}})


	12. Chapter 12

Sam nearly knocked his laptop off the table when his phone began to ring.

He had just set up the GPS tracker in an attempt to get a fix on Dean's phone. Sam could only think of two credible reasons that Dean wouldn't have picked up or returned his call; either he was off having some sort of macho crisis (which, if that was the case, Sam was going to beat the crap out of him) or he was in serious trouble.

"Dean?" He hadn't bothered checking the caller ID before answering, mentally kicking himself after the fact. The whole being hunted by angels thing had his nerves on a razor's edge.

"Close, but no cigar," the all-too-cheerful voice on the other end chirped.

Sam sighed. "Garth, I'm a little tied up at the moment. Can we talk about the scroll later?"

"Well actually," Garth's voice cracked over the line. "still got nada on the scroll. I was callin' coz I've got some pretty clear demonic omens right under your noses."

"In Whitefish? Garth," Sam huffed. "are you still tracking us? We told you we weren't exactly available at the moment. You got anyone else in the area?"

"I know, I know," Garth sighed. "There's no one else besides you two. Now, naturally, I tried calling Dean first, but his line was goin' straight to voice mail."

"Yeah," Sam said, beginning to get irritated. "That's kind of why I'm a little busy-"

"Hold your horses, ya idjit," Garth interjected, making the hairs on the back of Sam's neck bristle. "I did a little cross-checkin' on the GPS. Dean's phone is right on top of the location the papers show the disappearances've been happening. So, either your brother's already there handling it solo, or-"

"Or he's in serious trouble," Sam's heart sank. He was almost certain that Dean had gone out to a bar last night. It was the Dean thing to do if he was having some sort of meltdown. "Garth, gimme the location..."

He wrote down every word Garth gave him and ended the call, startling when he turned around and found Cas staring at him from just a couple of feet behind. The fallen angel was already dressed, angel blade secured in a holster at his hip.

"Jesus, Cas!" He ignored the scathing look it got him from the former angel. Sometimes he forgot- mojo or not, Cas could be a freaking ninja when he wanted to be.

"I'm going with you," Cas intoned, his eyes steady on Sam's as he spoke.

"No way," Sam shot back. "Dean would _kill _me if you got hurt."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, drawing himself up and squaring his shoulders back, his mouth a tight line of outrage as he did his best to get in Sam's face. Despite the height difference, it was still mostly effective.

"Sam, I have been a soldier longer than your _species _has been a thought. I have fought literally _countless _wars. I stood at your brother's side at the End and fought my way through Hell for _years _against _legions _of demons. Your brother has faith in me because I am 'bad-ass'" the ex-angel finger-quoted "and I _will not _stand by as though I were some invalid when I could be at your side in your brother's absence."

Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times, holding Castiel's intense gaze for a long, terse moment before withering beneath it. He knew Castiel had a point. Despite the fact that Castiel was still getting accustomed to a lot of things, becoming human didn't make him any less a warrior with thousands of years of experience.

He knew that if Dean were in his position right now, he'd probably have a fit, arguing that just because Cas had been a soldier of Heaven didn't mean he had to put his ass on the line for them every time. Sam didn't have it in him to argue with Castiel after his righteous speech, though.

"All right," Sam sighed, backing down. "You can come, but try not to forget- you're not the Man of Steel anymore."

"I wasn't asking permission," Cas murmured as he swung his jacket on. "And I don't understand that reference," he added sheepishly.

Sam smirked as he gathered his own equipment. Some things never changed.

[XXXXXX]

Dean woke slowly to the late morning sun that filtered through the boarded up window that provided the only source of light in the dingy room. He opened his eyes, staring at the warped plywood ceiling, motes of dust swirling in the eddies of his exhale.

With a wince and a groan, he lifted his head and found that he was seated in a sturdy wooden chair. An attempt to wipe his eyes revealed the reason that his shoulders were sore- his wrists were bound behind him with heavy twine, not allowing for much movement beyond rubbing his wrists raw.

"Yep," he confirmed to the empty room. "Definitely getting too old for waking up tied to a chair."

He glanced around the sparse room, trying to orient himself and determine his current whereabouts. It looked like some sort of office, probably a warehouse or a construction site. It had the musty smell of old cardboard boxes and rot, so he was betting on the former. In addition to the chair he was tied to, there was an old metal desk with one leg missing, leaning haphazardly to one side and a filing cabinet that had been divested of its drawers, papers and manila folders strewn about the floor.

He tried to recall the previous night through the lingering effects of the alcohol induced fog. He had gone to the bar, and...

Oh, right. 'Hannah'.

He let out a long-suffering sigh, turning his eyes pointedly toward the ceiling and the Heavens beyond. "You're a real son of a bitch, you know that?"

It would just figure that the cosmos would throw this at him right in the midst of the biggest identity crisis of his life. That or God was seriously just out to fuck with him. Either was plausible at this point; he _was _Dean Winchester, after all.

Things had been going good with Hannah right up until they got to her 'place'. Despite being three sheets to the wind, he had driven them in the Impala, following her directions and finding himself in the industrial district of the town.

He wasn't a moron. He knew from the moment they took the turn toward the rows of warehouses and railway ghostyards that something was fishy. He'd been drunk and cocky, though, playing along. A hunt was almost as good as getting laid, he reasoned at the time. At least he wasn't 'broken'.

True, he'd come mostly unarmed, apart from Ruby's knife and the Colt 1911 in the glove compartment. The gun probably wouldn't do him much good, but the knife, if he could distract her long enough...

"Cristo," he spat once he had put his Baby in park.

Hannah recoiled, hissing, her black eyes narrowing in contempt as she lunged at him.

He reached for the knife sheathed at the small of his back, but found himself yanked out of the car a split second before he could close his fingers around it.

The bitch had at least three accomplices waiting for them at the warehouse, now holding him by his arms as Hannah sauntered over to him, a darkly seductive smile on her full lips. It would have been sexy as hell if it weren't for those coal black eyes.

"Dean Winchester," she purred, sauntering around the front of the car toward him as he struggled against the two demons holding his arms. "Man, you're dumber than you look, and that's really saying something."

"You know," Dean grinned, lifting his chin in a smug gesture of defiance. "somewhere out there, there's a tree busting its ass to produce oxygen so you can breathe. I think you owe it an apology."

The demon smirked wryly, folding her arms.

"You probably know what I want," she said, tilting her head to one side and giving him a contemplative look.

"Well that's just not gonna happen now, is it?" Dean tried again to jerk his arms away from his demon captors. "I mean, I was all for it, you know. Beauty is skin deep, but _damn, _ugly is to the bone!"

Hannah rolled her eyes, losing patience. "Where's the angel?"

Shit. Seriously? Freaking Heaven and now _Hell _on their asses? Cas better feel fucking lucky that Dean liked him or this could go way south.

"Let me consult my magic 8-Ball," Dean glared. "Oh, sources say go back to hell, bitch."

The demon just smiled, walking toward the roll up door of the nearest warehouse.

"Given your history," she said as the sound of her voice receded past him, "your brother won't be far behind you. How long do you think it will take him to track you down? A few hours? A day, tops?"

Dean growled, his struggles renewed. "Not if I gank you first!"

He felt himself manhandled roughly as his captors turned him around, facing the demon woman once more.

"Shut him up," she said idly as she pulled up the door.

He remembered the rush of adrenaline as he fought for all he was worth, doing as much damage as he could to his captors, and then darkness as he was overpowered. It was just embarrassing, really, getting owned by a handful of bottom feeders.

He sighed, trying to roll his shoulders into some sort of comfortable position, wincing as the twine bit into his wrists.

_Come on, Winchester, _he thought to himself. _You're not this much of a wimp._

The twine was rough and bound tight enough to make his fingers cold and tingly, but he could still move them. It would take a while, but the material was thready enough he thought he might be able to pick his way through it, breaking it a fibre at a time.

Without Ruby's knife it wasn't going to be easy getting out in one piece. Fortunately, demons weren't the brightest bunch, as a rule. They hadn't incapacitated him (yet), and though he wasn't as quick as Sam, he knew the exorcism by heart just the same. It was going to be tricky, but he had little other choice if he wanted to get out of this alive.

He'd just have to work fast, and pray that Sam hadn't started freaking out like a mother hen over the fact he'd basically disappeared without a word and not shown back up.

[XXXXXX]

Sam winced when he saw the Impala parked half up on the sidewalk with the driver's side door swung wide open outside the old warehouse, but at least he knew they were on the right track. Castiel gave him a strange look when he withdrew the keys from the ignition, quietly shutting the door.

He shrugged, then turned to look at the dilapidated warehouse they'd found themselves in front of.

It looked old, worn down. The exterior was corrugated steel, covered in layers of spray paint from who knew how far back, the few windows high up were mostly broken out, yellowed with dust and age. The roll-up door of the loading dock was standing open and inviting, clearly not a trap. Oh no, an invitation like that? Yep, definitely not a trap.

"Crap," Sam sighed.

The fallen angel hung near his side, giving him a questioning look.

"Pretty much a guarantee that Dean's in there somewhere," Sam explained.

"It's a trap," Cas monotoned.

Sam inched toward the door, nodding for Castiel to take the other side. The angel picked up the cue, drawing his blade as he crept around to flank right. If anyone was waiting to greet them at the sides, he reasoned, they would cover and take them down before they could get taken out themselves.

Sam knew that the gun wouldn't do much good against a demon, but Dean had the knife, leaving Cas as the only one between the two of them with a weapon capable of ending a demon permanently. The gun was more of a distraction so that Castiel could take them out. Castiel was handy in a knife fight, even without his angelic abilities. He and Dean had both seen him fight before, and it was nothing short of impressive.

They weren't disappointed. Two demons were waiting for them in the gloom inside the loading dock, pouncing on them as they rounded their corners.

Sam fired two shots, one in each side of the demon's chest as it rushed him. It barely slowed him down, but it was long enough for Sam to hear Cas's demon shriek in pain, followed by the familiar flickering and crackle of energy that signaled the hellspawn's death.

He followed the shots with a round-house kick to the remaining demon's jaw, which was thwarted mid-strike when the demon grabbed his foot with both hands, throwing him off balance and swinging him into a pile of boxes.

He regained his senses quickly, pulling himself out of the debris just in time to see Castiel rush in low at the demon, driving the angel blade into its throat and ending it in a spurt of crimson.

"Sam," Castiel called, cool and collected. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, just gimme a sec."

"We don't have a 'sec', Sam," the former angel chided. "We need to move. Now."

Sam nodded, pulling himself up and dusting himself off. Fortunately, years of practice had made him an expert at getting tossed into shit, and he managed to walk away from this particular fight with nothing more than a slightly sore knee. It hurt, but it didn't impede him too much, so he was good to go.

He checked the GPS on his phone one last time to be sure, and saw that they were pretty much right on top of Dean's signal.

"We should split up," Castiel suggested. "We'll cover more ground."

Sam shook his head. "No way. We stick together. We don't know how many of them there are. If we split up we're just inviting a swarm."

Castiel considered this for a moment, then simply nodded- heading toward the upper level.

As soon as they crested the top landing, they were met with the sounds of a struggle from somewhere not far down the long, wide hallway.

Sam raised his pistol, the pad of his index finger resting lightly on the trigger guard as he inched his way forward, keeping his aim steady over Castiel's left shoulder. The former angel kept a few paces ahead, blade in his right hand, tensed and ready.

The nearer they got to the end of the hallway and the faint glow of natural light that filtered through a door to their right, the clearer the sounds coming from around the corner became.

"_Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et- OOF!_" That was Dean's voice. Sam could hear the impact and the crash that followed the words of the exorcism, followed by a howl of rage as the incantation continued. "_Congregatio et secta diabolica!_"

Castiel turned and nodded sharply at Sam, then dashed the last distance toward the door.

"_Cas! Wait!_" Sam hissed. But it was too late, the fallen angel had already made his way to the door and disappeared beyond.

Sam huffed in irritation and worry, then jogged to catch up.

One demon was already on the ground when he came through the door into the dusty office.

The other was halfway there, falling away from Castiel's blade.

Dean was tangled in what looked like the remains of a metal work desk, a dopey grin plastered on his face, covered in blood and dust and God knew what else.

"Took you long enough," he slurred over a split lip.

And then he promptly lost consciousness.

Castiel looked to Sam and raised an eyebrow.

Sam sighed, holstering his gun and moving to hoist his idiot brother out of the rubble. "I'll drag his ass downstairs. Who knows if there are more of them, so keep a look out."

They didn't encounter any resistance on the way out, however. Sam loaded Dean into the back of the Impala and Castiel climbed in with him, cradling Dean's head in his lap

Sam sighed as he got in behind the wheel, feeling like a freaking chauffeur or something.

He smiled, though, knowing that Cas was watching over his brother. It took a lot to knock Dean down, but he didn't seem to have any severe injuries when he'd checked him over before hauling him out. He figured the stubborn son of a bitch would survive. They'd both been through worse than a few demons using them as punching bags.

"Cas," he called back once they got out of the industrial district. "See if you can wake him up, if he's got a head injury, probably not the best idea to let him take a nap..."

Castiel said nothing, but a few moments later he heard Dean groaning from the back seat, followed by what almost sounded like a coherent cuss word.

"The hell'm I doin' in the back seat," Dean mumbled, trying and failing to sound authoritative.

"Being rescued," Sam offered back. "You're welcome."

He heard the movement behind him as Dean pulled himself up. "Yeah? Well who the hell asked you to? I had the sons of bitches..."

Sam glared into the rear view mirror at his jackass brother.

"Don't you bitch-face me, bitch."

"Dean," Sam sighed in frustration.

"I'd've been _fine _Sam," Dean growled back. "You shouldn't have come down here. In case you hadn't noticed, it was a _trap._ They're after Cas."

"It was a poor trap," Castiel observed in an off-hand tone, but it didn't cover the irritation or the relief that Sam could hear in his voice.

"Pull over," Dean ordered.

"No, Dean," Sam huffed. "We need to get back to the cabin."

"I am _not _riding in the back seat of my own car," Dean bitched.

"Deal. I'm not stopping."

"Sammy," Dean growled in a warning tone.

"I said no, Dean! We're not stopping until it's safe."

"Dean," Castiel admonished. "You are injured, and there may be other demons in the area."

"Oh, now you're taking his side," Dean blurted petulantly.

"I'm not taking anyone's _side_," the angel retorted.

"And what the _hell _were you thinking, Sammy?" Dean was yelling now. "We're supposed to be _protecting _Cas, not dragging him into our God damned fights!"

"I didn't _drag _him, Dean!" Sam was really beginning to get tired of Dean's shit. He pulled this crap every freaking time. He knew it was a way that Dean let off frustration when he was worried, but seriously! Cas proved he could take care of himself back there. It pissed him off that Castiel had only that morning preached about Dean's faith in him, and then Dean goes and pulls this crap on him?

"I would have come regardless, Dean." Castiel's tone was low and foreboding. Apparently the fallen angel's patience with the elder Winchester was wearing thin as well. "As I told your brother before we came to find you, I have been fighting for thousands of years before you."

"Yeah, but that was when you had your mojo," Dean countered. "You're not fucking Superman anymore, Cas! You can't just go walking into crap!"

"I am well aware of my limitations, Dean," Castiel said, starting to sound truly pissed.

"Are you?" Dean prodded the pissy angel. "Because if I remember right, last time you got in a scrap you got yourself sliced up pretty good."

"And I survived it," Castiel growled. "As I have survived just now."

"Look," Sam said, trying to derail this before it came to blows. "Can you two _please _knock it off? At least until we get back to the cabin?"

"Shut up, Sam," rebounded at him in stereo from both occupants of the back seat.

Sam sighed, getting the sudden urge to bang his head against the steering wheel as his brother and the fallen angel started in on each other again. Was it always going to be like this? God, he sure hoped not. Maybe he shouldn't have had Cas wake Dean up just yet, after all.

.

(**A/N: **Whew! Sorry for the long delay between chapters! It's been kind of a crazy week on top of getting a surge of inspiration from the muse that guides my hand on Ride the Lightning. I did not forget this verse, though! Thanks to everyone who has followed, favourited and reviewed so far, and an extra especially big squishy thanks to Ninjakittee for her diligent beta work! I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!)


	13. Chapter 13

(**A/N: **Holy crap! A new chapter! Due to the long delay, you get a slightly longer chapter than usual today :3 Um... some slight warnings for torture around the middle. My muse left me for a few days, and when I found her, she was hiding out in the dark, sadistic part of my brain ._. so... enjoy the whumpage!)

.

After the incident at the warehouse, they had decided that it was time to take their show on the road, stopping along the way to get Cas the Winchester traditional cautionary ink. Cas had initially balked at the idea, not liking the thought of some random human touching him, but Sam had soothed him in the end and they'd gotten the ordeal over with. None of them were sure that Cas even _could _be possessed, but they didn't want to take that chance.

The whole ordeal actually went down pretty smoothly. At first, Castiel had flinched every time the artist brought the tattoo gun within a foot of his skin, fists clenched and eyes wide as he stared at the quazi-arcane patterns on the ceiling of the trendy little parlor in Billings, Montana. Half an hour into it, he was fast asleep in the chair.

Sam had to agree, it had been kind of soothing. He later told Cas, when Dean was out of earshot, that the elder Winchester had cried and bitched the whole way through his.

From Billings, the question was- now what?

The thought of going to Garth's was quickly shot down. While the wards on the little guy's safe-house-boat would provide more saftey than any motel room, there was also the prophet, Kevin, to consider.

With Heaven and Hell after Cas, going to Garth now would just be an invitation to both sides to swoop in and grab both the prophet _and _the fallen angel. They had no delusions to the possibility that their every move was being tracked by one or both sides.

They were currently holed up in an abandoned farm house in Centerville, Iowa; far enough from the town proper and surrounded on all sides by acres of wheat fields run amok.

The place was old, run down, and the wooden floor had rotted away in a few places in the upstairs, rendering the home uninhabitable. The white paint had mostly peeled from the outside, evincing the feel of a salt and burn job waiting to happen. One of the four round pillars holding up the porch awning had long since collapsed, the overhang falling in and breaking partially away, making getting to the door an exercise in agility.

Aside from the holes in the second floor, the place wasn't entirely bad.

The former occupants had left much of the furnishings behind, covered in dust cloths that kept most of the detritus from marring the furniture, and there were two rooms downstairs that each contained a bed that didn't smell too much like mildew.

Settling in had been a chore, salting every door and window and scrawling chalk sigils on surfaces at every compass point.

Cas had wordlessly set to work angel-proofing the place, ensuring that all angles of protection were covered.

It had been nearly two days since he and Dean had spoken directly to each other.

Sam was the safe middle ground; the calm little centre of the universe.

"Sammy," Dean called as he set the final line of salt along the door leading from the kitchen to the jungle of sunflowers and corn out back, sauntering back into the living room. "I'm gonna go grab some food. See what Cas wants."

"Sam," Cas interrupted from ten feet away before the younger Winchester could say anything "Please inform your brother that I am in the same room, and if he wishes to speak to me, he may do so himself."

Sam huffed in annoyance, rolling his eyes as he chucked the spray can he'd been using to lay down the devil's trap in front of the door over his shoulder, absconding with himself to the room he'd claimed for himself during their stay. Sam was not going to be a party to this. Two days had been enough already, and neither his brother nor the angel were willing to admit that either one was in the wrong on anything.

Cas was picking up on too many of Dean's bad habits.

Once the tether from his phone was set up, he sent off a few emails to his contacts and checked the area for miracles and demonic omens.

How fucked up was their life now, when miracles had become portentous?

Sam was still browsing the local news when he heard the floor creaking and the door across the hall close. It was getting late and it hadn't seemed like Cas had gotten much sleep the night before, so it figured the ex-angel would have crashed early. More likely he was just avoiding Dean. Sam didn't know how they'd managed to spiral so far out of control in their little argument in just two days, but he hoped to God or whoever they'd make up before he had to get in the middle of it.

Fights like this usually got worse before they got better when Dean was involved.

Sam just hoped his brother didn't chase the angel away before it was resolved.

[XXXXXX]

Dean had considered grabbing a drink at the bar before heading back, but the memory of getting punked by a few demons was still a little raw and he conceded to grabbing a six pack instead. Besides, if he really wanted to get himself drunk, he still had a bottle of Velvet in his duffle bag.

It was well after dark when he made it back to the shack, and upon entering there was no sign of his brother or Castiel. Frowning, he set the bags down on the coffee table (one double bacon cheeseburger, one cobb salad, one double bacon cheeseburger with _extra _tomato) and crept back into the house, toward the two downstairs rooms. The door on the right was cracked open, a battery operated camp lantern casting a glow that didn't quite reach the door.

Sam sat cross-legged on the broken down old mattress, his sleeping bag beneath him, computer on his lap. Typical.

"You know, Sammy," he said, startling his younger brother. "Usually when you watch porn in the dark you close the door."

Sam shot him a tired bitchface, closing the lid of his laptop. "Funny."

Dean just grinned back. "Dinner's here, bitch."

Sam sighed, pulling himself up off the bed without reciprocating the endearment, and followed his brother back out to the living room.

"Where's Cas?" Dean was pretty sure the angel was in hiding in the other room, but asked anyway. He was worried about Castiel, and he felt like a righteous asshole for the whole thing between them. He had come to the conclusion that he had overreacted, not that he would ever admit it, but he still insisted that he was right to worry about Cas. It was his job to protect him, after all.

Watch out for Sammy. Protect Castiel.

These two things were his purpose. His drive. No matter how much of a little bitch either one of them could be at times, he would always give everything he had to keep them safe.

"Crashed about an hour ago," Sam replied as he popped the lid off his salad.

"Too bad," Dean chuckled. "I made sure to get his made special."

Sam leveled a look at him, checking the other container suspiciously.

"Dude, really?" Sam shot him a shrewd look. "I'd laugh if he shoved them up your ass."

Dean chuckled, taking a bite out of his burger. "He'd have to interact with me to do that."

Sam sighed, stabbing absently at his salad. Dean could see those puppy dog eyes flitting up at him as Sam gathered his thoughts to start spewing some girl crap about talking about his feelings. He was well aware that Sam wanted him and Cas to make up so he didn't have to deal with it anymore.

"You should just talk to him." Called it. "Dude you haven't talked to each other in two _days_. How long are you gonna drag this out?"

"I'm _not _dragging it out, Sammy," Dean sighed, dropping the remaining half of his burger back into the container, leaning forward on his knees with his arms braced on his thighs as he addressed his brother. "He started it."

Sam gaped at him. "Dean. You realise you sound like you're five, right?"

"I'm just saying," Dean shrugged.

Sam rolled his eyes, shoving another fork full of salad in his mouth and chewing as angrily as he could manage.

"I'll apologize when he does."

"I can't believe you're my _older _brother."

"Just goes to show you, Sammy- being a nerd adds ten-"

The thought was cut off as a scream tore through the house, both brothers rising to their feet, respective weapons drawn before they had even registered what had happened. Dean looked to his brother, silently questioning if it had come from where it had sounded like it did.

Sam nodded, eyes wide and panicked. They moved at the same time, all but running toward the bedroom door as another agonized cry split the air.

Dean barely bothered turning the knob as he threw his shoulder against the door, pointing the barrel of his Glock into the dark room.

Sam came up behind him, shining a flashlight into the room, pointed at the bed.

Dean lowered the gun, staring in shock.

Castiel appeared to be alone in the room, his fingers gripping the blanket beneath him, body completely rigid. His eyes were closed, skin ghost white- a stark contrast to the trickle of blood Dean could see trailing down his face from his right eye.

"Fuck," Dean swore under his breath. "Sam! Get some fucking salt or something!"

Dean set the gun on the old peeling nightstand beside the bed, grabbing Cas by the shoulders and shaking him, immediately regretting it as the angel screamed again.

"Cas!" He felt his guts twist as the first seeds of panic began to germinate. What the hell was going on? "Cas, wake up!"

Castiel's eyes fluttered, murmuring something that Dean couldn't quite make out. He felt the angel's muscles tighten beneath his grip as he let out another keening cry of pain.

Sam was back a moment later with the camp lantern, a couple of water bottles, some clean towels and the first aid kit. Dean's eyes widened in horror as the fallen angel's nose began to trickle blood and he made a strained, wet choking sound. Dean didn't know what the fuck to do with this. There was nothing to fight. There was no attacker he could see. He didn't know how to stop this.

"He's drowning! Sit him up!" Sam reached over Dean to help haul the angel up when Dean didn't respond immediately.

"Cas!" Dean tried again. "Castiel!"

The fallen angel frowned, his eyes fluttering again as he coughed. Dean held onto that. He was getting through.

"Cas, wake the fuck up, buddy- _please_ don't do this to me..."

"Dean," Castiel murmured, his eyes rolling back to the whites, another cry torn from him.

"Damn it," Dean growled, raising his hand and backhanding Castiel hard.

Castiel gasped, his eyes rolling forward once more, dazed and unfocused.

_Don't do this to me, _Dean thought fiercely. _Cas, buddy, I _need _you!_

[XXXXXX]

He opened his eyes, lucid and aware of the stark, sterile white room with the high, frosted white windows. The walls fairly glowed in the harsh, ethereal light cast from an unseen source.

He was seated in a white, low-back armchair facing a stainless steel desk. A familiar and thoroughly unwelcome face stared back at him, a terse smile on pale lips that didn't come close to reaching cold, storm-gray eyes; a cruel and unyielding visage in an iron gray suit and white shirt, strawberry blonde hair piled meticulously atop her head.

"Hello, Castiel," she said in a lilting tone that was a mocking parody of warmth.

His eyes widened as he shrank back into his seat as though the firm padding might somehow absorb him and send him back to... anywhere but this room. He remembered everything. The last time he had been in this room. The reclining chair. The straps. Those cruel eyes looming over him as she brought the blade close, piercing, all of the pain and confusion and fear as her small, strong fingers worked at his mind, binding him, breaking his will, reprogramming him to once again be 'Heaven's bitch'.

This was the last place he ever wanted to find himself again.

"Naomi," he breathed, throat constricting around those three unpalatable syllables as though they were poison. He felt the panic spread across his skin like a storm over the ocean, cool and electric as his heart began to thunder in his ears.

_"Hold still" her voice echoed in his mind, sharp and clear above the pain behind his eyes, his own screams filling his ears as he gripped the arms of the operating chair, her cold fingers probing his mind, mutilating his free will..."_

He swallowed reflexively, pushing away the memory of the torture endured at the hands that now rested clasped between them on the sparse surface of the desk. His eyes flicked nervously between those hands and the cold steel orbs that hovered above them, watching him unblinking.

(He finally understood why Dean had always said it was 'creepy' when Castiel had stared at him, watching over him as the hunter slept. He understood how inhuman and unsettling it was to have those cold, emotionless eyes scrutinizing him, studying him as though he were some specimen on display, to have his soul vivisected and quantified in that still, eerie gaze.)

"You look... pitiful, Castiel," she gaged him, her words slow and measured, mockingly amused and tinged with faint disgust. "Fallen, in every sense of the word. You are an abomination."

"What do you want," he said, managing to keep his tone steady and neutral despite the twist in his guts, despite the flutter of panic in his soul. "You can no longer control my actions, Naomi, and I will not allow the Winchesters to come to harm."

Naomi's smile never wavered, though her eyes sparkled with something akin to annoyance.

"Your faith in the humans is nothing short of blasphemous. You have turned your back on Heaven's host for your own delusions of what, love? Free will?"

He said nothing. There was no defense against her words, and arguing against her would be futile and petulant. He bore no regrets for his actions.

"You had assistance," she continued as his silence stretched. "Who helped you, Castiel?"

He forced his thoughts to clear, blanking his mind to keep her from reaching in and taking.

"This does not have to be difficult, Castiel." She leaned forward, imposing. "Who helped you? Tell me, or I will tear it from you myself."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, jaw set as he tried to steel his nerves, drumming up the courage. "I would damn my own mortal soul before 'cooperating' with you," he spat, forcing every ounce of his loathing into each word.

The bitter smile wrinkled the corners of her eyes, turning the mirthful expression into something grotesque and monstrous even in its subtlety.

"It's far too late for that, don't you think?"

He felt his conviction waver as she stood, bracing her hands on the desktop.

In the next instant, he found himself immobilized; his wrists and ankles bound as he reclined, his head braced to the headrest as she leaned over him. A flash of silver in her hand, cold fingers gripping his jaw as the tip of the blade began to blur and become unfocused, closing the distance toward his right eye.

"I doubt I will ever understand your madness, Castiel," she spoke conversationally as she worked at him, blades of ice probing his thoughts as she ignored his screams and sobs. "Humans are so weak, finite, and yet you rebel for them, fall for them, become one of them. You have been warped, corrupted past redemption and made yourself vulnerable. You are an abomination and a liability to the Host. Once your collaborator is revealed, you and your humans will be executed to protect your brethren, which you have so casually endangered."

_Cas!_

Castiel choked on a sob as he felt the thick, warm fluid flow down his cheek, fighting her from the core of his being as she tore and sought for the memory, for the face of his brother, the name that he would protect at all costs. He couldn't risk this befalling his brother.

"Who was it, Castiel?"

_Cas, wake up!_

"I... will die first," he ground out, hands clenching into fists tight enough to leave half-moon indentations in his palms.

"In due time," Naomi responded evenly, pressing further, the pain spiking through his mind and his spirit as he felt the blood wash over his face, slicking his mouth and flooding the back of his throat. He choked on the coppery fluid, gasping for breath as he coughed, desperately trying to clear the airway.

_He's drowning! Sit him up..._

_Cas! Castiel!_

"Dean," Castiel breathed, half sobbing.

He frowned at the voice half heard in his thoughts, distant, though almost as though it had been a shout, whispered into his ear.

_Cas! Wake the fuck up, buddy! _Please _don't do this to me!_

He felt the cold fingers twist, a bolt of white hot agony behind his eyes, stars exploding in his vision as it obscured the thought.

Then there was a new pain, sharp and corporeal against his cheek, almost welcome in contrast to the blade and the cold, probing fingers. The harsh light was gone, replaced by gloom and the dim glow of a battery operated lantern. A pair of strong hands held him by his shoulders, keeping him sitting upright as his eyes flutterd, struggling to stay open, focused on the worried,, horrified, frightened green eyes that swam in that beautiful face in front of him.

"Dean," he croaked, his voice low and cracked and on fire. Had he been screaming? He couldn't recall.

His eyebrows drew together, taking in the concern and tentative relief at war on the elder Winchester's face. He lifted a hand to his own face, wiping at the itch beneath his right eye, but Dean gently caught his wrist, pulling it away as his fingers touched something warm and wet.

"D-don't touch it," Dean stammered out. "Me and Sammy'll get you cleaned up, don't worry, you're gonna be fine, Cas."

Castiel frowned as he took in Sam behind his brother, a mirror image of Dean's own concern as he cracked open a bottle of water, using its contents to wet a clean cloth.

Dean all but snatched the cloth from his brother, gently wiping at Castiel's face.

Castiel was staring intently at his fingers, now slicked bright red from where he had touched his face. He was aware that his breathing had become quickened, his heart beating fast and irregular. The room was suddenly too small, too dark. He closed his eyes and saw white, stark and blinding, and it sent a shiver of panic down his spine. He had to get out, had to get away.

"Cas," Dean's voice called him back. Dean was near him. Hands grabbed him. He had to escape, had to get away. Away from her. Away from Heaven. "Cas! Hey, calm down!"

"Dean," he sobbed. It was shameless, he knew. He shouldn't let her see this weakness in him. He didn't want to hurt Dean. He didn't want to hurt Sam.

He couldn't obey her. Not this time. He had to do it. He had to end it. To protect his family. To protect Dean and Sam Winchester.

To protect them from himself.

Strong arms surrounded him, warm and unyielding. He felt himself slowly relax as he breathed deeply the familiar scent of sun warmed leather, motor oil, gun powder, whiskey. Dean.

He clung to the solid mass embracing him, fingers twisting in cotton as the hunter gently stroked his hair.

"You're fine, Cas," Dean's voice soothed in his ear. "You're not gonna hurt us. You're okay. I've got you."

Castiel tensed at Dean's words. Had he been thinking aloud? What had he said? He didn't remember.

The memory of the nightmare was already fading fast, the only lasting impression was pain. Pain and a pair of cruel, gray eyes and blinding white.

[XXXXXX]

Castiel sat on the moth-eaten sofa in the living room of the old house, wrapped around a glass of whiskey, Dean's sleeping bag wrapped around his shoulders.

Dean sat on one side of the fallen angel, an arm wrapped loosely around his waist. Sam took up vigil on the other side, giving Dean a worried look over the bundle of broken angel between them. Dean knew that look. Sam was going to start asking about feelings.

"Cas," Sam began in that bleeding heart tone. "... what happened?"

"Dude," Dean cut him off. It hadn't yet been ten minutes since they had pulled Castiel out of the bedroom and into the living room, nose still trickling blood and shaking like a leaf. "Give him a bit, all right? The guy just got freakin' Freddy Kruegered and you wanna play group therapy?"

Sam scowled a half-hearted bitch-face in response. "Not everyone bottles everything up, Dean. The sooner we figure this out the better."

Castiel let out a long exhale, his shoulders slumping as he let some of the tension go.

"I'm fine," he said evenly, taking a long drink from the glass in his hands.

"Like hell you're fine!" Dean may not be the fore-runner for the bleeding hearts club, but he knew a bullshit line when he heard one. People who are _fine _don't scream bloody fucking murder in their sleep. "Look, Cas, I'm not gonna expect you to talk about it if you don't want to, but don't bullshit us."

Cas didn't even take the opportunity for a rebuttal, his eyes passing through the amber liquid in the glass, pensive and unfocused. Broken.

He drained the glass, leaning forward to set it on the coffee table. Dean half expected him to get up and walk away. Cas had notoriously kept his personal shit close to his chest, often until it was too late and the angel had made some world-shattering cock-up. Needless to say, it surprized Dean when he started talking.

"I don't remember anything specific. A white room. A woman with gray eyes. I think she may have had a sword," he said. "It... seems familiar. I think I was there. Before I- before I fell."

Both Winchesters listened intently as the fallen angel spoke, but Dean's gears were turning as he absorbed Castiel's words. The way the angel had been screaming, it had sounded like he was being tortured. Was the white room where he had been held during his long absence? Was the gray-eyed woman the one torturing him? There were a dozen things Dean wanted to know, but the one thing he _did _know is that whichever feathered son of a bitch had done this to his angel, he was going to make sure that they paid in blood.

Dean couldn't deny his worry, though, when he saw the blood trickling from Castiel's eye, just as it had done that night when he had killed Alfie.

Sam was first putting into words the thoughts that were forming in Dean's head. The apparent torture, the bleeding eye crap, his vague mutterings upon waking from both the first nightmare and again tonight. The long months between Castiel fluttering off with an obtuse farewell and then being dropped off out of nowhere by Inias.

"They were controlling you," Sam summarized their mutual thoughts. "You weren't punishing yourself, you were escaping..."

Castiel folded himself forward in his seat, hands clutching at his head.

"Fuck, Cas," Dean all but gasped as he pulled the fallen angel closer to him. "What the fuck did they do to you up in Cloud City?"

"I don't remember," Castiel replied. Well, at least he wasn't freaking out again. If anything, he just sounded exhausted.

Dean put both of his arms around Castiel, shooting his brother a look challenging the younger Winchester to say something about it.

Sam sighed, rising from the couch with an eye roll and a small, neutral smile. "I'm gonna try and get some sleep," he said. "I'll call Garth in the morning and see if he knows of anything that might help, see if we can't figure this out. We should call sheriff Mills and see if she's seen or heard anything over the last couple of weeks."

"All right, Sammy," he acknowledged. "G'night."

Dean wasn't sure he would be able to sleep after everything that had happened. When he had heard Castiel's screams, seen the blood on his face, he had immediately feared the worst; he was going to lose Castiel before he ever figured out his own feelings and insecurities.

Seeing Cas broken and trembling in the aftermath of the attack had crumbled something in his resolve. It was still confusing, but he _loved _Castiel, and the thought of losing the angel had nearly shattered him.

He didn't know if he was ready yet to accept it completely, but he couldn't just push it away, either. He could hide it from Sam and Cas, but he couldn't keep it from himself.

He was in love with his best friend, and the thought of losing him crushed his soul.

"We're gonna figure this out, Cas," Dean said, carding his fingers through Castiel's hair. "I promise."

[XXXXXX]

When Sam awoke the next morning and shuffled out to the living room, he smiled at what he saw.

Despite the tension and the adrenaline after the previous night's events, both his brother and his brother's angel were asleep on the couch, Dean on his back on the couch with his head leant back against the armrest, snoring peacefully with Castiel sprawled over him beneath the old sleeping bag, head resting on Dean's chest as they held each other.

Neither so much as stirred as Sam grabbed the keys to the Impala off the table, leaving as quietly as he could to go pick up coffee and breakfast.


	14. Chapter 14

(**A/N**: Attention diabetics- high sugar content for this chapter; a lot of saccharine and fluff. You've been warned. :P Thank you guys so much for the reviews! I love hearing your thoughts on my words, it's such a great encouragement! Also thanks to Ninjakittee for yet another chapter of amazing beta work! You really had me working this round lol)

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Castiel woke to the roar of the Impala's engine and the crunch of gravel outside the dilapidated farmhouse.

His sleep had been comfortable but restless after the previous evening's events, and it surprised him that he hadn't woken to Sam creeping across the creaky wooden floor on his way out. The attack had left him exhausted, but fear of slipping back into the nightmare he had experienced had interrupted any rest he might have had afterward.

Feeling the solid warmth beneath him, the steady beating heart against his cheek, he settled in once more. He had never fathomed being this close to Dean before his fall; breathing in the hunter's scent, relaxed and boneless beneath the slightly tattered and stained sleeping bag on the threadbare old sofa, feeling genuinely content for the first time since he had woken in the Winchester's motel room in Washington. It almost amused him that after so many emotions had bombarded him in his first two weeks of being human - or as close to it as he could be - that these emotions could still give him pause.

He knew, since his conversation with Sam on the subject, that his affections for Dean Winchester were more than platonic, though it still puzzled him. He still could not fully grasp the full terms of what he felt for the hunter, except for the need to be near him; this ritual he had formed with Dean to quell his insecurities and the terrors that haunted his dreams, the appreciation he felt looking upon the man who had shown him free will, and the desire to experience the hunter's lips against his own once more. As an angel, he had never been a carnal being; such tangible emotions had been beyond him in his celestial Grace.

He shifted carefully, not wanting to wake his bedfellow as he turned to look up into Dean's lax, slumbering face, taking in every detail as though it were brand new. He had always felt drawn to the elder Winchester, held an irrational affection for the man. It was a bond forged by his own Grace when he had raised the Righteous Man from Perdition, reinforced through worldly experience.

Their... disagreement had been frustrating, and had left Castiel questioning where their relationship stood- platonic or otherwise. Sam had explained to him that Dean was being an 'asshole' about the whole situation, and Castiel himself could recall incidents far more damaging than simply fighting a few demons. He had been furious with Dean for implying that he was weak, unable to manage himself in battle because he was now mortal.

Then the hunter had called out to him in the midst of the now-distant nightmare of pain and white, had called him back to himself and ended the pain, caressed and consoled him, grounded him. Dean had stayed with him and held him until he had fallen into a fitful sleep, nullifying Castiel's anger at him for his actions in Whitefish and the ensuing childish argument that stretched across the following days.

No longer wishing to sleep, he watched his hunter until he woke, silently wondering what it was that Dean was dreaming as his soft snores were occasionally broken by a quirk at the corners of his mouth, or a quiet sound of contentment. He had visited Dean in his dreams previously, when he had been able. One of his favourites had been an isolated dock on a crystalline lake, surrounded by his Father's creation. It had been peaceful, and Castiel had found it astounding that Dean could harbor such beautiful images after all the horrors the man had seen in his lifetime, after forty years in hell.

It was a reflection of Dean's soul; beautiful and tranquil amongst the turmoil.

He wished that his own experiences with dreams had been half as peaceful. Even restful nights since he had fallen and met the constant requirement for periods of rest, his dreams had been nothing short of disturbing at their best. Most often, he dreamed of falling; feeling his wings splinter and burn away with his Grace as he plummeted, his heart fluttering in his chest like a frightened, caged bird. He dreamed of Samandriel, or of confronting Michael and Lucifer, being torn apart by Lucifer's will, or Raphael. He dreamed of his horrific acts as a self-proclaimed god, his vessel being overtaken by the Leviathans, being torn apart in the reservoir, of Purgatory.

The worst, aside from the vague nightmare of pain and white, had been the first time he had slept alone, without being close to Dean. The night they had stopped to rest at a wayside motel on their way from Billings to Centerville, he had dreamed of Jimmy Novak's death, the moment his vessel's soul departed as Raphael had laid him to waste at the home of the prophet, Chuck Shurley.

He wondered if his Father would ever permit him to dream anything so pleasant as the dock on the lake, or of his favourite Heaven, which Inias had been so kind to show him when last he had seen his brother.

Everything that he had experienced since awaking in the motel room in Washington with the Winchesters beside him had been confusion and frustration and guilt. He was thankful to Dean and Sam for being so patient with him, but at times he felt as though he was merely a burden upon his friends, bringing to them the ire of Heaven and endangering their lives.

Part of him had not expected to survive the fall, had even hoped for it. Had it not been for Inias, he likely would not have survived. The Winchesters would likely not have even known, would have moved on and only wondered what had become of him until he was forgotten- a memory alongside everything and everyone else they had lost.

"Dude, that's _still _creepy."

Castiel was shaken from his thoughts by Dean's voice, focusing on the hunter's bemused green eyes, an odd smirk on his lips.

"Sorry," Castiel murmured, preparing to pull himself up and return Dean's personal space to him, but was caught off guard when Dean pulled him back down.

Confused, he furrowed his brow, regarding the elder Winchester warily.

"What," Dean cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Dean," Castiel began. He wanted to ask the hunter about the night in Whitefish, when they sat on the steps of the cabin, when Dean had kissed him. Instinctively, he knew that this would push Dean away. The elder Winchester's loathing to express his emotions would certainly create a rift if pressed. So instead, he merely rested his head against Dean's chest once more and said, simply, "Thank you."

"You good, Cas?" Castiel didn't mistake the concern in the hunter's voice. The previous night had been disturbing, not only for the sake of the nightmare itself.

"Yes," he replied. "I was not disturbed further after you woke me."

There was a long, pensive silence from the other man, and Castiel almost flinched when he felt Dean's fingers carding lightly through his hair. It was relaxing, he decided, a small creature comfort that the fallen angel felt he could become accustomed to.

"I mean," Dean paused, gathering his thoughts. "You haven't really told us what happened to you. I get that you fell and all, but something's up, and the more we know the better Sammy and I can help, you know?"

Castiel sighed, reminded that he had come to them as a burden; a damaged thing that now weighed on his only true friends, endangering them. Had he perished in the fall, the Winchesters would not be hunted as he was, the prey of both Heaven and Hell, and he was all but powerless. All he had left was the skill of millennia of battle.

"Cas?" Dean prodded, the gentle caress through his hair ceasing as the hunter tilted his chin up to look him in the eyes. The genuine concern that met his gaze weighed on his soul, how humans had such compassion for all of their flaws.

"I don't remember much," he admitted. "I remember falling. I remember that it was my choice. But... I do not remember from whence I fell, only that I needed to."

He closed his eyes as Dean resumed petting him. It was still strange, this tenderness from the brash and abrasive hunter he had come to know and love. He felt himself smile as he thought to himself that perhaps he should test Dean with silver and holy water.

"I had thought it was atonement for my sins," he continued, fighting the lull of sleep induced by the comforting gesture. "For Samandriel. I suppose part of it still is. However... I was relieved, when it was done. I felt relief, that I was free. Isn't that strange..."

"Depends, I guess," Dean shrugged. "One thing still seems kinda off to me, though."

Castiel opened his eyes, turning toward the hunter again, questioning earnestly.

"Why _did _you kill Alfie?"

"He came at me, I killed him in self-defense." He frowned, the words came before he had even given them thought. They felt _wrong, _repeating them now. The exact same words he had spoken that night in front of the warehouse.

Dean didn't miss this either, and Castiel felt a flutter of panic. They weren't _his _words.

Castiel again pulled himself up, away from Dean, and this time the hunter let him, sitting beside him on the sofa. His vessel - his body - suddenly felt so small, so confined. He was an abomination, had murdered his own kin, mutilated himself for his own selfish purpose.

"Cas," Dean's voice called to him as he fought the memory of his brother's death. It was so _wrong._ He put his head in his hands, trying to shut away the image of Samandriel's face, the betrayal in his eyes, the slick of blood on his hand as he pulled the blade free.

Castiel felt Dean's arms close around him, pulling him close, becoming aware of the hopeless sounds he was making in his throat. He wiped at his face, but there were no tears; just the pain of regret, confusion and despair in his chest as his hunter tried to soothe him.

When he felt calloused fingers take his jaw in their grip, tilting his face toward those empathetic green eyes, he nearly flinched _[flash of white, gray eyes]_ and then all thought simply ceased as a pair of warm lips cut through the murk of half-remembered nightmares and desperate confusion.

It was unlike the first time Dean had kissed him, and also unlike the kiss that Castiel had given him in return. It was soft, slow, patient, and Castiel felt himself wrapped in it like a sun-warmed sheet, pulled back to the present, back to Dean in the simple yet profound gesture. A shiver ran through him, a strange electric sensation that spread out through his nerves from the very core of his being as Dean's fingers trailed lightly along his jawline. He felt compelled to move into it, reaching a hand up to rest against the hunter's shoulder to steady himself, drunk on the sensation of the intimate moment with his favourite human.

When Dean pulled away abruptly it left him dizzy, positively buzzing in the after effects; his eyes didn't seem to want to focus and his lips felt swollen, remembering when he felt light-headed that breathing was now an imperative.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, snapping him out of his daze, and registered the crunch of gravel and the rumble of the Impala's engine before it cut off. Dean was watching him intently, jaw tight and eyes searching his face with latent fear. "You okay?"

Castiel responded with a ghost of a smile that showed more in his eyes than on his face. "Yes, Dean," he said. "I'm fine."

Dean grinned back at him, ruffling the fallen angel's hair fondly. He was on his feet, pulling his duffel bag up from where it sat on the end of the couch by the time Sam shouldered his way through the door carrying a tray of coffee and breakfast.

[XXXXXX]

The mood of the morning quickly soured over breakfast as Sam relayed the news he'd received of demonic omens in Des Moines. To make matters worse, his call to Sheriff Mills revealed that there had been a bunch of suits in her back yard the day after Castiel's crash landing, poking around the newly formed crater.

Dean belatedly wished that he _had _acted on his impulse to call her that day after Sam had put two and two together from the news article of the 'meteor' that demolished her shed. They might have had better preparation for the events that had unfolded a week afterward, their confrontation with Ramiel and all the crap that had followed them since.

Castiel sat mutely as he picked at his hash browns, Dean noting with concern that Sam's retelling of what Jody had told him over the phone had upset the angel to the point that even the bacon had hardly been touched.

In the impact crater where the shed had once stood, she told Sam that she had found tattered and burned fabric, blood, a handful of charred black feathers and, strangest of all, the burnt outline of what had appeared to be massive wings. Dean had thought that the wing impression thing meant that an angel had died on the spot, and yet Cas was still here with them. Just how badly had he mangled himself when he fell? Had they almost lost him? Dean found himself suddenly immensely grateful to Inias for sticking by his friend after everything that had happened over the last few years, and a little ticked off at Cas for being so reckless.

He lost interest in what Sam was saying after that, watching the increasingly withdrawn angel who no longer seemed to even pretend to be interested in his food. Cas had gone eerily still, his eyes fixed on nowhere in particular that Dean could tell, a faint crease in his brow that the hunter had learned to read as a sign that the angel was disturbed by something, or perhaps guilty. He wasn't sure if he wanted to give Cas a hug or shake him until he spilled whatever it was he was thinking about.

Dean also saw the brief flicker of sadness that washed over Castiel's face as Sam mentioned the wing impression, the subtle roll of the fallen angel's shoulders, almost an unconscious act. He saw Castiel's eyes dart away from the table, toward the door, the windows, as though he was looking for some kind of escape from the conversation. Like he wanted to disappear. Like he wanted to fly away.

_His wings,_ Dean mentally slapped himself. He had only seen them a couple of times, and even then it had only been a shadowy suggestion, an ethereal outline that was more perceived than tangible. He had become so accustomed to Castiel's near-human appearance that despite all of his awkward and alien behaviour, Dean could at times forget that his friend was anything _but _human. Apart from the odd joke, he had never really considered the fact that Castiel did, in fact, have wings in his true form.

But not anymore. He had clipped his own wings, as evidenced by the news that Sam had brought from Jodi Mills. Cas was officially more human now than he was at the end of the apocalypse, when he had still managed to keep a few tricks up his sleeve until the finale.

Dean cleared his throat as Sam continued to ramble on about angel feathers and ruined sheds, suddenly wanting to steer this conversation to something more pertinent and less sensitive. So far this morning had been nothing short of surreal, and the circumstances surrounding Castiel's fall from Grace were growing murkier and more confusing. For that brief moment though, when he had taken a chance, acted impulsively, it had been pretty fucking _awesome. _Seeing the angel actually smile for the first time in he didn't know how long had been the highlight. For a moment he could forget the image of that hollowed out ghost of Castiel he had met in the future.

He had been nervous as hell when Cas started freaking out about Alfie, not quite sure what to do. He had intended to keep his little revelation to himself, not quite ready to act on it just yet, and the action had been all impulse and desperation. Dean wasn't great with words, and offering consolation and comfort verbally was awkward. Not that kissing his best friend wasn't, but it was better than words, and to be honest he had wanted to anyway, ever since that night at the cabin.

"Sam," he said, interrupting his little brother's monologue. "What about the demon signs in Des Moines? Think that kinda takes priority at the moment."

Sam stopped, derailed as he looked up from his notes to his brother, then looking instantly guilty when he saw Castiel, mute and despondent across from him. He shot Dean an unspoken apology.

"Anyway," Sam said. "So yeah, there was a massive black-out in Des Moines yesterday with no determined cause, and just south of the city, crops on several large commercial farms just shriveled up and died overnight."

"Son of a bitch," Dean sighed. "Think we're being tailed?"

Sam shrugged. "It's possible this is just a coincidence... it's not exactly a small city."

"When has our luck ever let demons nearby be a coincidence?"

Sam sighed, glancing at Castiel again. "Good point."

Dean shook his head, losing interest in his pancakes. The whole damned thing was looking more and more hopeless the longer they looked at it. They didn't know their enemy, or what they wanted other than the three of them dead, or worse. They'd gone up against worse and come out on top, but the element of not _knowing _what exactly they were up against just lent to the gravity of the situation.

He was pretty sure it was Crowley who wanted Cas on the Hell side. The King of Hell had had it in for the angel since the whole God thing. But Heaven... Heaven hadn't had any beef with him and Sam since the almost-Apocalypse, and had left them pretty much alone. Which could only mean that it was all about Cas, and they were collateral damage.

Fuck that.

Dean wasn't about to let either side get to Cas, and he'd be damned if he went down without a fucking fight. This wasn't Castiel the Holy Tax Accountant with the stick up his ass, nor was it Castiel the fledgling God hopped up on Purgatory souls, or even secretive Cas sneaking around behind their backs fighting some civil war upstairs.

This was Cas, his best friend and maybe more, lost and fallen and alone save for Dean and Sam Winchester, running for his life from whatever fucked up shit they were doing to him in Heaven.

"Well," he said, bolstering his resolve, "either way they're not getting their fucking hands on Cas. Them _or _those feathered dicks upstairs."

Castiel's head popped up at the declaration, eyeing Dean curiously with an undertone of guilt that Dean wanted to smack right out of him. There was also a trace of hope, however, and gratitude.

Dean wished he had even that much faith in himself, but hell. He'd beaten worse odds before.


	15. Chapter 15

(**A/N: **Sorry for the long wait. This chapter is mostly filler and fluff, but there are events on the horizon! Thanks once more to the wonderful Ninjakittee for her diligent beta work :) and thank you, readers, for all the follows and wonderful reviews! My ego loves reviews.)

With the news of demonic omens in Des Moines, the Winchesters universally agreed that it was time to pack up and get the hell out of Iowa. Under normal circumstances, the first thought to cross their minds would have been the hunt; find out more about the signs, find the monster and gank the fugly son of a bitch.

This time, things were more complicated. In addition to Castiel's recent foray into humanity, there were also Cas' nightmares to consider. Until the previous night, the angel's dreams hadn't been much of a concern. He'd been through some pretty traumatic shit over the last five years alone – Purgatory not the least of which – but whatever it was that had caused the former angel to fall had become a whole lot more important after dragging Cas back to consciousness screaming and bleeding from some kind of mental attack.

Add angels and demons on their asses and the sum was one hell of a clusterfuck they weren't even remotely prepared to get tangled up in just yet. So, after consulting their father's journal and making a few calls, they packed up the Impala and headed out west.

Castiel trailed behind Dean as they left their temporary home. He would miss it, he decided. Despite the terror of the night before, he had acquired at least one good memory during their stay in the run-down farm house.

Dean swung around to the driver's side after they loaded their belongings into the trunk, and Sam and Castiel paused as they both arrived at the front passenger side door at the same time.

Dean watched them with an amused smirk over the top of the car; his little brother seemed stumped, a bemused expression on his face, and Castiel looked almost embarrassed, frowning inwardly but not withdrawing his hand, either.

"There can be only one," Dean intoned at them in his best Sean Connery voice.

Sam blinked, not sure if Dean was serious, but sighed as he realised that, _this is Dean_. Of _course _he was serious.

Then Castiel surprised both of them, squaring his shoulders back with his smite-face on as he faced the younger Winchester with fierce determination in his eyes. He lifted his chin, acknowledging the challenge that Dean had issued, and raised his closed right fist to hover over his open left palm between himself and Sam.

"I believe that the rules call for 'best of three'," Castiel deadpanned.

Sam stared, dumbfounded at the shorter man, then slowly moved his eyes to his brother for verification that he was interpreting the situation correctly.

Dean snorted at the helpless look on his little brother's face, then completely lost it at Castiel's determined scowl, as though the fate of the world depended on a game of fucking 'rock, paper, scissors'.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head as the spell broke. He grinned at the former angel and assumed the position. "I hope Dean didn't teach you," he teased. "He sucks at this game."

The battle was fiercely fought, and Castiel broke the tie with rock in the end, sending Sam to the exile of the back seat as the angel slid into the front with a smug look on his face, beside his favourite human.

"So," Dean grinned, ruffling Castiel's hair. "Who are you and what've you done with Cas?"

The fallen angel gave him a puzzled, almost guilty look, cocking his head to one side with his eyebrows knitted together.

"It's a joke, Cas," Dean smirked and rolled his eyes as he turned the ignition, putting the Impala into gear. "Just nice to see you getting into the swing of things, is all."

Castiel surprised them yet again with the faintest of smiles and a low, breathy chuckle.

After the night's tension and the morning's news, it brought a welcome atmosphere to the car as they made their way out of Centerville.

It had been Sam's idea to try a psychic, as they had with Anna Milton when they were trying to unlock her repressed memories. It had worked with Anna, and Cas was human now, too- even if the way he had fallen was a bit different.

They couldn't fight whatever this was very effectively without knowing who or what was behind it. Cas knew who it was; he had said as much when they had discussed the psychic, but the memories had somehow been blocked. He remembered a white room and a pair of eyes looming over him, but that was all.

"So, Sammy," Dean called back once they were set at a steady cruising speed on the highway. "Who's this psychic Missouri's setting us up with?"

With Pamela gone, they had called the first psychic they had worked with, years ago, when they were still searching for their father; Missouri Mosely.

Missouri had been expecting the call. She already had the name and address of a friend of hers in Rocklin, California waiting for them, saying that their particular problem wasn't really her sort of thing. She had also gone on to berate Sam and by extension Dean for not calling or stopping by in the last seven years to say hi.

"Sara Sloan," Sam read off the scrap of paper he'd written it on. "Specializes in dream studies, professor of psychology at Sierra Nevada Community College."

"Sounds kinda like a shrink," Dean frowned. He liked Missouri. She was a tough old lady, but she had a heart of gold and Dad had trusted her implicitly, but he had never really been comfortable with psychics in general. Even Pamela, though smoking hot, had given him goosebumps on occasion when she showed off her particular skillset.

"Well I think we need all the help we can get right now," Sam shot back.

"This is exceedingly dangerous," Cas said soberly. "If I am indeed being tracked by Heaven, regardless of the wards, there is a strong possibility that we are putting this psychic in danger, moreover ourselves."

"We're gonna have to take that chance, Cas," Dean sighed. The fallen angel hadn't necessarily balked at the suggestion of psychic intervention, but he wasn't completely onboard with the idea, either. "Could be this is a lot bigger than just you going AWOL."

Castiel nodded thoughtfully. It was entirely possible that the tablets were involved as well. He hadn't given it much consideration, as he had been more focused on the recent attacks on himself and the Winchesters since his fall on top of adjusting to the daily needs and rituals involved in being human. He felt a knot in his chest tighten as he thought of Samandriel, recalling their conversation in the moments after Castiel had pulled him from the warehouse.

_"It's okay, you're safe now. I'm taking you home."_

_"No, you can't take me back there, Castiel!"_

_"Why not?"_

_"You don't understand. I told Crowley things, things he shouldn't have known. He knows secrets, secrets I didn't even know we had!"_

_"What secrets?"_

_"Heaven, *****"_

_"Who is *****?"_

_"They've been *********** **, Castiel."_

"Cas!" Castiel jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder, jerking him out of the memory.

They were stopped in a lot outside a diner, Dean leaning across the seat, staring at him worriedly. The sun was lower than Castiel remembered, and there was a stiffness in his limbs and a soreness in his neck that suggested he had been asleep.

"Hey, welcome back," Dean smiled, the barest curl of his lips that didn't come close to reaching his eyes.

"I hadn't gone," Castiel murmured sleepily as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

Dean smirked, the tension leaving the set of his shoulders. "One of these days we're gonna have a talk about euphemisms."

Castiel raised an eyebrow, doubtful, given the brief conversation, that Dean knew what a euphemism was, but pulled himself out of the car without further discussion on the topic. Sometimes, with Dean, he had learned it was better just to let the hunter be in regards to certain subjects. He frowned when he stood, noticing that it was just the two of them.

"Where's Sam?"

Dean climbed out from the other side, closing the door and stretching. "Inside. Had to undrink all that coffee from this morning."

The angel stared blankly at the hunter. "That was an euphemism."

Dean blinked at the fallen angel. "What?"

"'Undrink the coffee'. That was an euphemism, Dean."

"That was a meta-" Dean shook his head, chuckling softly. "Whatever. Let's go get a table."

The Flying J was the perfect kind of roadside attraction; truck stop, diner and one-stop road shopping in one. After the last couple of days on the road, the Winchesters figured they could grab lunch, pick up a few essentials at the little shop to stock up and grab a shower in the travel centre before heading off again.

They took an open table toward the back, neatly between the fire exit and the front door, just as Sam returned from beyond the gift shop behind the cash wrap. They settled into their usual seats, Dean with Cas on one side of the booth, the angel closest to the window, and Sam across from them, picking up the cheap, worn paper menus and glancing them over.

Sam glanced at the two men across from him, trying to puzzle them out. Things had changed between them in the last few weeks. It had been a lot of ups and downs, but that had been mostly Dean's identity issues getting in the way. Since Whitefish, the two of them had been on a killing edge with each other; the childish jibes, playing telephone, the huffy sidelong glares...

Since last night, however, it seemed like they were getting along again. What was more, they seemed... comfortable with each other. Sam hid a smile behind his menu as he remembered how he'd found them in the living room that morning, and Dean had looked more content even asleep than any time Sam could remember in a long while. He had half expected things to go back to the usual camaraderie after that, but the apparent protective streak his brother seemed to have developed for the fallen angel hadn't gone unnoticed when Sam had related what he'd gotten from Jody Mills over the phone.

Dean had all but chastised him for going on about the feathers, and honestly, Sam hadn't even thought about that. Sure, there was some lore on the subject, but no one had ever actually seen such a thing. In all the time they'd known Cas, known about angels, Sam had never given much thought to them resembling the image of angels in the Bible and subsequent Christian mythos. Obviously he didn't doubt - there was too much evidence and experience to the contrary for him to think that there was no such thing as angels – but he'd become used to identifying Castiel and the other celestial beings they'd met by their vessels. The thought of Castiel's wings had thrilled him in the scholarly sense, and for a moment he'd been carried away by it.

Then there was the issue over the front seat, and Sam just had to smile at that.

Obviously, Dean didn't have the heart to just tell one or the other to take the back, and so he'd issued a challenge. That was fine, Sam reasoned. It was odd, sitting in back after all these years on the road with his brother, while the angel took the front seat, but it didn't really bother him too much. He was just glad that the two of them seemed to be working their shit out.

There wasn't anything significant. It wasn't like they were sitting there across from him, making out or being gushy, gazing into each other's eyes or anything. They still had the same six inches between them on the bench, involved in what they were doing independently. The difference was the relaxed set of Dean's shoulders, and the almost smile touching the line of Castiel's lips- things that would go unnoticed by anyone that didn't spend almost twenty-four hours a day with them.

Sam didn't expect any fanfare from either one of them, or promise rings or lovey-dovey 'chick flick moments', but seeing his brother this close to happiness, and Castiel at ease – even treating Sam as an equal and a confidant after years of cautious, brittle trust – Sam was more than content just to let them ride it out in whatever way they needed to in order to make it work for them.


	16. Chapter 16

If he had been asked even a month ago how he managed to tolerate a three piece suit and overcoat through all weather conditions and climates, Castiel would not have fully understood the question. As an angel, his Grace had maintained his vessel's core temperature, adapting without thought to any and all temperature changes and atmospheric elements. He, himself, gave little to no thought to the weather; he did not experience it in such a way that it would affect his level of comfort.

Now, however, he understood the strange looks he sometimes received when he had appeared in his full trench-coated angelic regalia.

Ever since descending from the mountainous regions East of Reno, Nevada, the temperature had steadily climbed to the point that, even in the back seat with all four windows rolled down, it was just too damned hot.

In his brief existence as a more-or-less human, he had not had to endure anything above about fifty degrees Fahrenheit. He had not really minded the cold in Iowa or Montana, having been able to simply put on another layer of clothing if need be.

The heat, however, was distinctly uncomfortable as he lounged against the back passenger side window, wondering how it was that Dean and Sam still wore their usual layers so comfortably while he suffered in just a white t-shirt and jeans.

"How you holdin' up back there, Cas?" Sam leaned an arm over the back of the seat, craning around to get a better view of the fallen angel.

"Is California always this insufferable?" Cas grumbled back. It had climbed a further ten degrees since they had crossed the California state line, and even the higher elevation of the Sierra Nevada foothills had offered little reprieve.

"I never pegged you for such a _whiner, _Cas," Dean forced a smirk back at him in the mirror. "I mean, jeez, it's only like seventy-five. I'd hate to be stuck in a car with you in the _summer_."

Castiel scowled back at him and leaned his head a little further out the window, relishing the warm breeze as it tousled his hair and cooled his scalp.

Sierra Community College was nestled off of Rocklin Boulevard, the main stretch through what was essentially a mall-town. It was early enough in the afternoon that they decided to check in with their psychic, Sara Sloan, before checking into a motel. Aside from their meeting with the psychic, Sam had insisted on visiting a locally renowned farmer's market while they were in town, stating that a handful of entrepreneurs catered to the hunting circle and it might be a good idea to stock up on supplies while they had the chance.

Dean pulled the Impala into the maze-like lot of the school, navigating the aisles and meandering pedestrians, hunched over the wheel in agitation that none of these asshats seemed to take heed to the fact that he was operating 3,000lbs of steel to their 100-200lbs each.

Finding a spot near the back of the outermost lot, they all piled out of the car.

"Dude, Cas," Dean sighed, "put your goddamn shoes on."

The fallen angel scowled, giving the hunter a menacing, recalcitrant glare, but opened the back door and did as he was bade. The pavement was hot, anyway.

"So," Dean turned back to his brother, "where're we meeting Tangina?"

Sam rolled his eyes and started walking toward the campus. "Winstead Center, room 226. It's 4:40 now, gives us about thirty minutes before her class lets out."

"Awesome," Dean nodded, following once Cas had gotten himself sorted out and fallen into step with them. "Lead the way, college-boy."

Sam rolled his eyes yet again, checking the map posted on the front of the administrative building. Getting a fix on their location, he led the way through the glass and steel buildings to the back of the campus.

The Winstead building looked pretty much the same as the rest of the school; tall windows and steel frame, stucco- it was so unbearably Northern California droll. The trio let themselves in, climbed the stairs to the second floor and waited.

Castiel was nervous. The anxious tension he felt now, waiting to meet this psychic who might reveal what they were up against, or at the very least what was hunting him, sent a quivering sensation through his stomach that he found himself unable to ignore.

Even if they did manage to discover the face of their enemy, what would they do with that information? These were Heaven's soldiers after them. They could only run for so long, and their ability to fight back was severely limited now that he was without his Grace. If he was still connected to Heaven in some way, as he feared since the attack on his mind in Centerville, then it would send out a beacon to whomever it was that had invaded his nightmares and draw them to this place.

He had to concede, however, that it was a necessary risk.

If it turned out that the risk was too great, or that he could somehow circumvent Dean and Sam being harmed because of him, then he would willingly give himself over to defend them.

It wasn't long before the classroom door opened and students began filing out.

Once the room was empty of all stragglers, the Winchesters and the fallen angel made their way in. Dean rapped his knuckles lightly on the door frame, alerting the professor of their presence.

The woman sitting at the front of the room at the industrial style desk, hunched over a stack of papers wasn't quite what Dean had expected- mid to late thirties, dark hair pulled up in a messy twist, loose in front and framing an oval face that was youthful, only the fine lines at the corners of her honey brown eyes belying her age. Dressed in denim leggings and a gauzy, dark gold button-down that was belted at her slender waist, she could easily have been one of the students.

"Professor Sloan?" Sam asked, coming into the room alongside his brother.

"Aha," she smiled, rising from her seat to greet them. "You must be the Winchesters. You guys are pretty punctual..."

Taking that as an invitation, the three men came fully into the room, Sam shutting the door behind them.

"Just rolled into town," Dean flashed her a bright smile.

"Of course," she acknowledged. "You must be Sam, right?" She appraised the tall man with a wry smile, making him squirm uncomfortably.

"Uh, yeah," the younger Winchester confirmed. "This is my brother, Dean, and this is Cas..."

Castiel watched the woman with a narrow gaze, lamenting that he no longer had the ability to 'read' people as he had before. This was trust by proxy, he reasoned. The psychic, Missouri, was a one-time ally of the Winchesters and their father, and she had sent them to this woman for help. He was finding that since he had fallen, he was more instinctively wary of people who were unknown to him. Something seemed off to him about this woman, but then since they had begun their travels, he had felt much the same toward anyone who focused on him for too long.

Perhaps, he mused to himself, this was what was referred to as paranoia.

"Professor Sloan," he greeted with a slight inclination of his head in her direction.

"Please, just call me Sara. 'Professor Sloan' makes me feel like some calcified old math teacher or something," she insisted. "Have a seat, let's chat."

Dean was more than aware of how Sara was watching Castiel, like he was some sort of oddity. He knew, having been there when the call had been made from the old farmhouse in Iowa, that Sam hadn't told her what he was. He wondered if perhaps Missouri had picked up on something, or if maybe she was just good enough to notice there was something... 'other' about him.

He couldn't decide if she was just curious, or if she was mentally dissecting him.

"You're not exactly what you seem, are you?" she asked as the nervous silence stretched to a breaking point. Castiel clenched his teeth, averting his eyes from her probing gaze. He wasn't entirely certain how honest he should be with this woman they had only just met. Over his years working with the Winchesters, he had learned that honesty was not always the best policy, and could often times complicate matters.

"Your call," Dean said, measuring Castiel's reaction to the statement.

Cas sighed, lifting his eyes to the woman's own once more, feeling more than a little self-conscious. He wasn't ashamed of what he was, not in the slightest, but the human part of him balked at the admittance when he could do nothing to prove himself. "No. I am... was... an angel of the Lord."

Sara raised an eyebrow at him, glancing to the other two men for confirmation. Sam's expression remained grim and troubled, while Dean's just challenged her to contradict the declaration.

"An angel, huh," she smiled finally, her tone somewhat humbled. "I thought fallen angels were supposed to be all fire and brimstone and stuff."

Castiel looked genuinely offended at the comment, straightening in his seat, eyes filled with the holy fire of a hundred Apocalypses.

"Woah, easy there Scott Summers," she said, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "I didn't mean it to piss you off, just, the Church has a few different opinions about fallen angels, is all."

Castiel felt Dean's hand on his arm, a comforting presence that brought him back down to Earth. He had enough trouble resolving his status as 'fallen' in his own mind without this psychic woman calling him out on it. There were many interpretations of fallen angels in the Bible and in other cultural lore, and rarely did it portray anything less than demonic.

"There are many ways to fall," Castiel murmured once he felt he could speak without anger creeping into his tone. "I chose to fall for my own reasons, because I felt that Heaven no longer held a place for me."

Sara smiled, something like awe in her eyes. Yes, it was obvious that she could see beyond his vessel, knew that there was something more than human and yet less than purely divine about him. That she believed was both comforting and worrisome- Castiel hadn't expected it to be so easy to convince an outsider of who and what he was.

"We must seem like ants to you," she said after a long moment. There was no accusation, merely a curiosity that the angel found strangely appropriate.

"More like dolphins, actually."

Dean and Sam both turned to Castiel with similarly comical expressions of incredulity.

"Dolphins," Dean huffed dubiously, not sure if he should be offended at being compared to an aquatic mammal.

Castiel blinked back at them defensively. "What? Dolphins are intelligent creatures, easily on par with humans. They exhibit problem solving, creativity, generational learning habits- they teach, explore, invent, their emotional range is nearly that of humans, they use language... They are truly remarkable."

"Dolphins," Sam shrugged. "All right." Dean turned a half-hearted glare on his little brother, feeling as though somewhere along the line he'd missed the point.

"So," Sara said once the room had settled once more "what kind of dreams does a fallen angel have that sends them halfway across the country to ask a psychic for help?"

"I was attacked," Castiel admitted. "I assume it was an angel, as both Heaven and Hell seem intent on collecting me now that I am bound and... mortal. Demons tend to lack the... finesse required to invade another's mind with much subtlety. Angels, however, have used human dreams to deliver messages for eons, though this is the first I have heard of one causing physical harm in doing so."

"Well," she said after considering this for a moment, looking between the three men seated across from her as they watched her expectantly, "far be it for me to deny an angel of the Lord. I think I might be able to help you dig a little deeper, though given what you've told me I'm not sure what good I'm going to do you. Most of what I do is help people work through trauma, or unearth buried memories from their subconscious. I can do a little dreamwalking with you, but mental attacks might be a bit out of my league."

Castiel contemplated this. The woman was admitting that she did not have faith in her skill to truly be of use, but she was offering what she could- and that might still be of some assistance to his plight. It was all the more dangerous, knowing that she was not confident in her abilities, but what other choice did they have?

"Thank you," he said finally, nodding to her. "I would be grateful for what ever assistance you can offer."

Sara nodded, jotting something down on a piece of note paper before sliding it across to Dean.

"That's my address," she explained as the elder Winchester read it over, tucking it into his shirt pocket for safekeeping. "Why don't you guys get some rest, swing by after noon tomorrow?"

"That sounds great," Sam said, meeting his brother's eyes momentarily for confirmation. "We'll be there around noon."

[XXXXXX]

The drive from Sierra College in Rocklin to the Town House Motel in the neighboring town of Roseville was quiet, devoid even of Castiel's complaints of the heat. The afternoon was turning toward evening, and the desert chill was just beginning to replace the sun's warmth as it sank lower against the horizon.

Dean was just grateful to have a place to fall down once their room had been booked, tossing the keys onto the little table beneath the sole window and planting himself face-first onto the mattress of the bed nearest the door, groaning into the pillow as he worked his boots off with his toes. They had driven pretty much straight through from Centerville, stopping only to fill up the tank and grab a bite to eat, and he was looking forward to a few hours of unconsciousness.

This was one of those nice little places that he loved- cash on the barrel, no questions asked (they lucked out that they had a little kitchenette on the far side of the room, mini fridge, two-burner electric camp stove and microwave, saving them the hassle of having to dine out for every meal). Despite the motel's exterior, the room itself was pretty nice compared to their usual lodgings; the rose coloured carpet was faded and old, but no horrible stains could be seen. The walls were painted a deeper shade of dusky mauve, with grandma wallpaper depicting columns of creeping vines that reached from the carved redwood wainscoting to the crown moulding.

It kind of felt like the guest room of an old couple's house that never quite caught up with the times, but at least it didn't smell weird and the bathroom and kitchen were clean.

Castiel sat himself down at the table while Sam tucked their bags away in the miniature closet. After meeting with Sara, he felt more conflicted than before. Human psychics were usually sketchy at best, but he had already made up his mind to use her.

Sam slapped his dozing brother's foot, earning him a disgruntled groan of protest.

"Dude, help me set up the wards before you pass out at least," Sam reproved.

Dean sighed and pushed himself up, taking the proffered stub of chalk from his little brother, both of them raising an eyebrow as Castiel took the chalk from Dean's hand in turn, moving over to the door and scrawling on the chipped moss green paint in Enochian symbols.

Dean shrugged, grabbing the salt instead and sprinkling along the wall base as his brother and his angel worked on the wards.

He was glad to see the fallen angel becoming more involved with his new life. Odds seemed more and more that this was going to be pretty permanent and honestly Dean didn't mind all that much. He still wasn't completely sure what was going on between him and Castiel, but so far he didn't have many complaints. Having the angel around felt normal, comfortable, and he was glad to not have to worry about Cas flitting off to who knows where, disappearing for weeks on end without word.

Dean would never admit it to anyone, but he had prayed to Cas nightly for anything that would let him know that the angel was okay, that he was safe wherever he was. Of course, he knew now that he wasn't, and he felt like shit for not trying harder to find Cas, to help him- but what really could he have done? From what they'd worked out, Cas was pretty much being held... wherever, and he'd had to Fall, like the capital F kind of Fall, in order to get away from whatever it was.

He had to wonder if Crowley had something to do with it, like when he'd had Alfie locked up in that warehouse, but after some consideration it hadn't added up. Crowley had been pissed that he'd lost his hostage, but it didn't explain why Cas'd had to kill Alfie in the end, or his long, at the time seemingly voluntary absence.

No, it had to do with whoever 'she' was. And Dean was willing to bet that 'she' was seriously bad news to make his angel friend rip out his own Grace to get away.

Once the wards and salt lines were in place, Sam grabbed the keys to the Impala and excused himself on a food and beer run, leaving Dean and Castiel to their mutually pensive silence. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd think that Cas was brooding. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, but it bothered Dean nonetheless.

"Hey," Dean called out to the angel seated at the table, fidgeting with his chalk covered fingers. He waited for Castiel to turn his attention over to him before continuing. "We're gonna beat this, all right? I mean, can't be the worst we've gone up against before."

Castiel stared at him in skeptical amusement, the expression one of the more human he'd seen on the angel's face even in the last few weeks; one eyebrow cocked, almost smirking, eyes narrowed speculatively- Dean decided he kind of liked the way Castiel had... evolved, for lack of a better term. He was still the same old Cas, just a bit more animated, a bit more sass and a bit more... human.

Cas sighed, looking back down at his hands. "I know, Dean," he said evenly. The guy still knew how to ruin a mood. "But, as I said before, this is going to be very dangerous. If I am still... linked to Heaven," he paused, worrying at his bottom lip as he considered how to proceed "there is a risk we may be attacked, and the psychic may be harmed in the fallout. _You_, and Sam, may be harmed as well, and I don't know if I can abide that."

"So?" Dean sat on the edge of the bed, watching the fallen angel fidget. "We put up wards and Sammy and I stand by with banishing sigils. No biggie, we got this. No one can follow us, right? Your buddy Inias made sure of that, and the hex bags keep us hidden from demons. We're good, Cas- we got this."

Castiel gave the hunter a weak smile in return, wanting with everything he had to believe that things would be all right after this, that they would find out what was truly behind his fall and eliminate the threat as they always did. He didn't know if it made him a pessimist or a realist that a large part of him also expected everything to go to hell, that the knowledge would only complicate things further- if they even succeeded.

"C'mere," Dean gestured, calling the angel over to him. "Take your damned shoes off."

Cas huffed out a nearly inaudible laugh and did as Dean ordered, removing his shoes and placing them neatly at the foot of the bed rather than chucking them off haphazardly as the elder Winchester had.

Dean laid back, moving over far enough to make space for the fallen angel, hands laced behind his head and ankles crossed. Castiel sat on the edge of the bed as the hunter had only moments before, staring intently at the man in front of him, studying his face and wondering not for the first time about the sudden abolishing of Dean's long-standing 'personal space' rule. True, he had forced the matter in the first days of his new-found humanity, but he couldn't help but find it odd that Dean now took no issue with it, and in fact seemed to welcome his closeness.

"What," Dean asked, scowling a bit as he shifted his eyes uncomfortably.

"Dean," Castiel started, not sure how to ask "I don't... I don't really _need_ to do this any more, if it makes you uncomfortable. I feel as though I've taken advantage..."

Dean raised an eyebrow at him, propping himself up on his elbows. He watched the angel for a long moment, considering the sheepish look on his face. "Yeah, I know." He flopped back down. "If you don't want to, it's cool," he shrugged, hoping that the angel would take the hint. Dean couldn't outright admit that he _wanted _Castiel to lay down, that he'd gotten used to it, that he actually _liked_ it. Because if he did admit those things, he didn't know what that meant about him, or how he felt about the angel. He wasn't one for cuddling, but for whatever reason, he just liked being close to Cas, and he didn't know if he'd ever be able to say it out loud, but he freakin' _loved _the guy.

Just because he didn't like talking about feelings and crap didn't mean he wasn't in touch with them to some degree.

Cas continued to regard him for a long, contemplative moment. He was aware that things had changed between himself and the hunter since he had crashed into their lives full-time, just as he knew that his feelings for the man had only become stronger in that time. He had always loved Dean, admired his strength, and he knew that his affections were returned to some degree- but he couldn't help but feel that it was somewhat strained, that Dean wasn't entirely comfortable with whatever it was between them now. The hunter shared a bed with him under the pretense of Castiel's need for comfort as he adjusted to the requirement for sleep and the nightmares that plagued him, and yet...

"Dean," he asked, shifting slightly to face the hunter fully, "why did you kiss me?"

Dean stared up at him, his expression carefully blank, though his eyes betrayed the sudden fear that nibbled at the back of his mind. On some level, he knew that it would come up eventually, but everything to this point had just sort of flowed, and the issue had never been pressed between the two of them.

He huffed in feigned irritation, pulling himself upright to sit against the headboard, not looking at the angel. "I dunno, Cas, why did _you_ kiss _me_?"

The angel raised an eyebrow at him. He remembered full well the night on the front porch of the cabin in Montana, the thrill and confusion as he had reached desperately when he had thought Dean was pulling away after taking that first, drunken initiative. Castiel hadn't fully understood it at the time, but it was the first time that he had so selfishly _wanted_, and he had acted upon that want.

"I wanted to," he admitted finally, fidgeting with the frayed edge of the motel blanket. He shifted his eyes back to the hunter, who was still staring at the carpet with his arms crossed defensively over his chest.

Dean shrugged, as though that were all the explanation that were needed. He caught the fallen angel give one of those almost-smiles from the corner of his eye, shaking his head as his shoulders shook with silent laughter.

"What," he scowled, turning back toward Castiel. "What's so funny?"

"You," Cas smirked at him, meeting his eyes, one eyebrow arched in amusement. "You're rather obtuse in matters of subtlety."

"Am not," Dean scoffed petulantly, feigning offense. "What do you mean, I'm _obtuse_? You're _obtuse._"

Castiel gave him an almost cat-like grin that almost reminded Dean of the angel's future incarnation for a brief, unsettling moment- except that it wasn't empty, or forced- it was just Cas, and he felt himself grinning back.

He gave the angel a light, playful shove to the shoulder before settling back down again.

"Jackass," he muttered, grabbing Castiel's arm and pulling him down gently beside him. "Get some sleep, it's been a long freakin' trip and I know I'm bea-"

Dean's rambling was cut off as Castiel leaned over him, pressing his lips against the hunter's own, brief and chaste and just a little awkward for its inexperience as the angel settled alongside him in the bed. He was reminded of the morning before they had left Iowa, and wondered briefly if the fallen angel wasn't just emulating him- but even if he was, that was okay, wasn't it?

Cas stretched out at his side, boldly slinging an arm around the hunter's waist and breathing out a contented sigh. "Thank you," he murmured, barely audible over the sound of Dean's thundering heart.

Dean glanced down at the angel on his shoulder, eyebrows drawn up in amusement. "For what?"

"For everything."

And Dean just didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing, eventually lulled to sleep by the rhythmic breathing of the angel beside him.

(**A/N:** Hey guys! Thanks to all of you for sticking it out with me :) I hope you're all enjoying the story up to this point, and as always big thanks to Ninjakittee for her amazing beta-badassness. I think we've just about hit the peak of the lull- as Cas said, they can't run forever ;) Next chapter we'll poke around in Cas's head and see what's going on in there! Until then, just remember that reviews are metabolized into plot :D )


	17. Chapter 17

Dean was getting more and more tense as the morning pressed on towards afternoon, closer to their appointment with the psychic. Cas' little disappearing act at the farmer's market that morning hadn't helped matters, either, but at least that had been solved quickly. At the very least, the fallen angel had enough sense to have stayed where he was until Dean found him.

He sensed Castiel's growing unease as well, somber as he stared out the window into the parking lot of the cheesy 1950s themed diner that they'd stopped at for lunch.

Sam currently sat on his side of the booth, yammering on about having picked up some African dream root at Denio's, how it might be a good idea for one of them to 'keep an eye' on Castiel's nightmares in case whoever was attacking him tried it again.

Dean got the gist of what Sam was saying, but had stopped paying attention in favour of studying the fallen angel at his side. Needless to say, it surprised him when said angel suddenly turned toward Sam and stated, firmly, "No."

"Why not?" Sam argued, drawing Dean back into the conversation. "If one of us were there with you, we might be able to cut it off and wake you up before anything happens, or find out more about what's going on."

Castiel looked sharply away from Sam, reaching blindly for the nearly forgotten coffee in front of him on the table and, subsequently, knocking it over.

"Fuck," Cas sighed, catching both Winchesters off guard. All previous discussion was forgotten for the moment as Sam stared, flabbergasted, and Dean let out a barking peal of laughter.

Sam grinned at the fallen angel's perplexed, tentative smile and said "You've been hanging around Dean _way _too much, Cas."

"What are you insinuating, Sammy," Dean huffed indignantly as he rose to fetch a rag, "that I'm a bad influence?"

"That your potty-mouth is contagious," Sam smirked back as he mopped up what he could with the available paper napkins.

It was a nice break from the tense atmosphere that had reigned over the morning, and Dean half suspected the little shit had done it on purpose. Afterward, they were all able to enjoy light, distracting conversation as they ate lunch, no one dredging up mention of the psychic or Cas' nightmares until it was time to make their way to the home of Sara Sloan.

[XXXXXX]

Sara Sloan's home turned out to be a four-plex townhouse straddling the borders of Rocklin and Roseville, her's being the sunflower yellow partition of the otherwise green, blue and cream coloured building. The lawn was non-existant, just a three-foot wide strip of turf between the driveway and the walk up to the grass-green door displaying the numbers corresponding to the address the psychic had given them.

Dean would never understand the suburbs, why people couldn't just paint a damned house one colour and be done with it.

He stood on the bottom landing of the entryway stairs with Cas, reaching out and giving the angel's hand a light, reassuring squeeze as Sam climbed the three steps to the narrow porch and knocked.

The door opened before Sam had even pulled his hand back from the first report, and Dean hastily shoved both of his hands into his pockets. If Castiel was bothered by the abrupt disconnection, he showed no sign of it, for which Dean was grateful. He was to the point of acceptance, but the 'G' word still hung over his head like a noose, and he wasn't quite ready to hang himself with it just yet, especially not in front of Sam. He really didn't want to deal with his little brother's freak out if and when Sam ever found out what was going on between him and Cas.

Sara smiled out at their surprised faces, folding her arms smugly over her chest and leaning against the door frame.

"I know," she lilted, "it's like I'm psychic, right?"

"Uh," Sam uttered intelligently, lowering his hand to his side and shuffling awkwardly.

She chuckled softly and stepped back, inviting them in. "I heard you pull up," she admitted, the corners of her mouth twitching with barely restrained mischief. "Not many people drive classics around Prius Country. I couldn't pass up the opportunity."

She led them through the ground floor into the cozy living room, decorated tastefully in browns and golds and without any undue excess. There was a pretty standard sofa, a couple of comfortable looking arm chairs and a chaise lounge, all arranged surrounding a real wood-burning fireplace.

"Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable," she offered as she skirted toward the kitchen. "I've got water or Tang if you guys want anything."

"I'll take some astronaut orange juice," Dean beamed out, settling on the sofa beside Castiel while Sam took one of the chairs.

Sara returned moments later with a pitcher and four glasses, setting them on the oak coffee table at the centre of the semi-circle.

"So," she began, pouring out a glass and handing it to Dean, "there's not a lot of prep work for this. Basically what I do, is sort of like hypnosis. When we get started, I'll have you lay down over there, Cas, and once you're relaxed, I guide your dreams until we find the memories we're looking for."

"Guide his dreams how?" Sam voiced the question that was also on Dean's mind.

Sara smiled again, taking a sip from her own glass. "Psychic."

"Right, Dean drawled, "we got that, but like, what are you gonna do to him, exactly?"

"I dream walk," Sara shrugged. "I thought I mentioned that yesterday. The women in my family have inherited the ability for as long as anyone can remember, as far back as Cherokee medicine women."

Dean exchanged a look with his companions, all seeming placated by the answer.

Castiel remained reticent through the the exchange, considering the woman's every word. He would have to sleep, to dream for this to work, and that renewed his worry over the whole thing. Whatever was invading his mind, if it chose to strike now, she could be harmed.

"Sara," he began, locking onto her eyes as she turned to give her attention. "I think it fair to warn you before we begin. My dreams are... far from pleasant. I have seen and fought things that even the most steadfast of hunters would fear, and should my attacker choose to appear while we engage in this 'dream walk', I do not know if I can guarantee your safety. Drawing their attention could be dangerous."

Sara smiled sweetly at Cas, reaching out and placing a hand on his knee. "That's sweet of you to warn me, and I appreciate it, but I got this."

Dean was a little surprised at the ire he felt toward her hand and the little pang of jealousy that shot through him as Castiel gave her a grim smile in return.

_Bullshit,_ Dean scolded himself. _Dean Winchester is _not _a jealous fifteen year old girl._

"So," Sara continued, "I'm ready when you're ready."

Castiel stayed motionless for a moment, staring pensively at his hands clasped between his knees. He was terrified, if he was honest. Irrationally so. He wasn't sure if it was facing the unknown, or fear for this woman they had only just met who may now be putting her life on the line. It was quite possibly the worst thing he had felt since he had fallen.

"You don't have to do this, Cas," Dean offered, resting one hand unconsciously above the angel's knee.

"No, it's all right," Castiel murmured. "Though, we should ward the room, at the very least. Just in case we draw any unwanted attention."

Dean traded a look with Sam before nodding and turning to Sara. "If it's cool with you," he explained. "You're really going out on a limb for us, and it's the least we can do- but warding can get messy."

She gave him a searching look before giving a brief nod.

"I'll get the salt from the car," Sam said as he rose from his seat, leaving Dean and Cas to explain that they'd also be drawing on her walls.

In the end, she had taken rather well to the plan and had even asked Castiel to draw the Enochian symbols on a notepad so that she could reference them and lend a hand.

Once everything was in place, with all the entryways to the ground floor warded against both angels and demons, windows salted and blood banishments at the ready, Sara instructed Cas to lay down on the chaise and make himself as comfortable as possible. He settled himself in, feeling slightly vulnerable under the three sets of eyes watching him, and folded his hands across his stomach as he laid on his back.

"Good," she said, pulling the ottoman from one of the chairs and positioning herself to sit above his head. "Now, close your eyes and allow your thoughts to clear. This is the hard part, getting into a restful state. Allow my voice to guide you. Imagine yourself somewhere peaceful, quiet. It's just you there, relaxed and calm."

As Sara's voice droned on, Castiel found himself sinking deeper and deeper into rest, becoming less aware of the dimmed room he was laying in as his mind began to calm.

He felt a cool breeze against his skin, heard the faint slapping of waves against wood, and when he opened his eyes, he found himself standing on an old wooden dock overlooking a crystalline lake. Overhead, he could see a multi-coloured kite hanging in the air, and upon turning he saw that it was tied to an empty folding chair, a fishing rod leaning up against it.

He realised with amusement and appreciation as he took in his surroundings that this place seemed to be a merging of his favourite Heaven and his favourite of Dean's dreams. He smiled, breathing deeply of the clean mountain air, noticing now that he was once again bearing the familiar weight of Jimmy Novak's suit and trench coat.

"So what were you in Heaven," a voice asked from his left, "holy defense attorney?"

Castiel turned to face Sara, who looked no different than she had moments ago, standing now at his side on the dock.

"This is not like my dreams," he stated simply, ignoring her question.

Sara sighed, looking out over the lake.

"It's sort of a staging area," she explained. "Nightmares and bad dreams, they're easy to get lost in. I find it's easier on the mind to start somewhere safe."

Castiel nodded, a faint smile touching his lips.

"This is beautiful," she said after a moment. "Everything is so vivid..."

"This is a dream I sometimes visited, before I fell," Cas murmured, "and the Heaven I most loved."

"So, Heaven does exist," Sara mused. "Though, I suppose that should be expected if angels are real." She smiled, then frowned thoughtfully. "Does this mean I have to stop being agnostic?"

Castiel chuckled softly, slipping his hands into his pockets and humming thoughtfully. "My father does not care if you adhere to doctrine, only that you live a good and virtuous life."

Sara smiled again, raising an eyebrow at him. "Do you think I'll make it up there?"

Castiel considered her for a moment, then nodded. "You don't seem evil to me. You should be fine."

She nodded, content with his answer.

"I guess we should get this show on the road, then," she sighed remorsefully, taking one last panning sweep of their surroundings. "I think your boyfriend's anxious to get this done and get out of here."

Castiel turned a bemused look at her, one eyebrow cocked questioningly.

Sara just rolled her eyes and smiled. "I'll be right beside you, even if you can't see me."

Before Castiel could comment further, he found the scenery fading away around him, the verdant green fading to dull gray as the soothing sound of the lake became utter silence. The sky overhead looked scorched and the acrid air choked his lungs. He was surrounded by trees, but they all seemed dead or dying, as lifeless and hollow as the rest of this place.

The scene took on a more surreal quality, transitory, drifting. Glancing around, he could see the burned impressions on the ground, spreading out from his feet in all directions- blackened, scorched, outlines of bodies where they had fallen.

"Dean," he whispered, his senses failing him as the trees lit up around him, sending spires of flame high into the blackened sky. Sulfur filled his nostrils, the smoke staining his wings as he flew onward into Perdition. He watched his brothers fight on at his side, the tide of demons overwhelming them. There were too many. They weren't going to make it through.

He watched as his brothers fell, one by one around him. The heavy smoke from the pit weighed down his wings, forever staining them, tainting him. Even were he to succeed, he would not leave Hell unscathed. He fought on, fought toward the Righteous Man, toward the Cage to free Sam Winchester, to raise him from Perdition so that Michael could face Lucifer, to return him to his rightful place after he had made the ultimate sacrifice to save the world Castiel had come to love.

His thoughts drifted aimlessly through Purgatory, through Hell, through a Heaven in which he had waged war as thousands lay dead at his feet.

_Cas, _a voice called to him through the haze. _You know what you're here for. Find it._

Castiel stood in a white room with high windows, light filtering in from an unknown source.

He stood beside the prophet, Chuck in the cluttered kitchen as the light's intensity increased. He could see the faces of his brothers as he made himself a shield to protect Chuck Shurley. _Shield of God_. He would live up to the name his father had given him. He was ready to fight.

"_Don't you know? You're home, Castiel," she said, her undefined face smiling up at him from behind the desk, hands folded in front of her._

He felt his vessel's soul ripped from his Grace as he was torn apart, separated in a hurricane of panicked screams as his vessel burst under the pressure of Raphael's wrath.

_"Bottom line – unless I ring my bell, you stay out of Heaven."_

Castiel shook as he pulled the blade into his hand.

"It's okay," he said, looking down at his brother. "You're safe now. I'm taking you home."

"No! You can't take me back there, Castiel!" Samandriel held onto him, desperately beseeching. "You don't understand, I told him things, secrets I didn't even know we had!"

"What secrets?"

"Heaven, Naomi."

"Naomi."

_Naomi._

_"Kill him!"_

"No."

_"This is a direct order, kill him!"_

"NO!"

Castiel stood in a white room with high windows, light filtering in from an unknown source. Behind the large, spartan desk sat a woman in a gray suit, the smile on her lips not reaching her cold, gray eyes.

"Naomi," he intoned, the dream clearing into this one moment, frozen in still frame. She used him as a weapon to kill Samandriel. His blood was on _her _hands, he was merely the blade.

The scene changed again, and this time he held onto it, following it with conscious effort, willing himself to _know_, to remember.

He stood in a darkened warehouse, blade in hand. He glanced down at the weapon, already slicked red with blood.

"Go, Castiel," her voice ordered. "Kill him."

He had done this many times. Dozens. Hundreds. Each time hurt no less than the time before.

Castiel stalked through the pillars, his eyes easily piercing through the darkness until he found his target, crouched along a wall with a gun in his hands, seeking as he himself sought.

He approached his target, fingers tightening around the haft of the blade as he closed he distance to Dean Winchester.

"Cas," Dean stood, backing away. "Don't do this man, don't... please. We're family... just stop! CAS STOP! Cas!"

Cas did stop. He stopped, looking down at the blade in his hand. This wasn't Dean. He knew this wasn't _his _Dean. Naomi. Naomi was doing this. What was he becoming? What would this lead to?

"I will not hurt Dean Winchester."

"Castiel," Naomi snapped, coming into view from his right as the lights in the room came on. There were so many... so many bodies. Castiel had done this. Real or not, this had been done by his hand.

"No."

"Castiel!" Naomi was walking toward him. This was his moment of clarity. He wouldn't allow himself to become this, to become a machine again, a tool of Heaven. A weapon.

"NO!"

He raised his blade, turning it on her instead. She was stronger, wrenching the blade away from him as she drew her own.

Castiel broke away from her. He had to flee. He couldn't fight her, not here, not as he was. His mind buzzed, willing him to obey, to heed her order, to kill Dean Winchester. He wouldn't. He couldn't. Dean was everything he had become. He loved Dean Winchester.

He fled.

He didn't know how long he had run from one Heaven to another, desperately trying to stay one step ahead, to lose Naomi and those who sided with her, willingly or otherwise, but eventually he found himself in a familiar place. It was generally avoided- left only as a reminder of what awaited those who turned against Heaven. The very edge of Heaven itself, where Lucifer had been cast down.

The ground was still scorched black with God's fury, the air still trembled with His power.

Castiel stared at the black space beyond the precipice and then, steeling himself in his desperation, he strode with purpose toward the edge.

He felt Inias at his back, perhaps the one of his brothers remaining for whom he felt trust. He loved them all, for all their faults, all their petty indoctrination, but Inias was different, like himself. It felt like betrayal to leave such a good and kind brother behind to fend for himself, left behind with Naomi and Heaven's new order. He knew, also, that he couldn't stay.

He blocked out Inias's desperate pleas as he stepped over the edge, wrapping his wings tight around him as his Grace caught fire and burned away with his fall, bracing himself for the inevitable impact.

Castiel gasped, sitting up, bathed in sweat and panting. He struggled to pull himself free of the hands that were grasping him, pulling at him, voices shouting at him. He had to get away from her, to find some way to stop her and avenge the brother he had slain, guided by her hand. Naomi.

"Cas! Hey!"

Cas paused. Dean. "Dean?"

"Hey," Dean smiled thinly, brushing the sweat-sodden hair back from Castiel's face. "Welcome back, man. Must've been a hell of a trip."

Castiel focused on Dean's face, letting it draw him back into the waking world. His breath trembled in his lungs as he took in that face, smiling at him, relieved. The face he had seen beg him a hundred times before plunging the blade into his heart, or breaking his neck, or simply smiting him with a surge of his own Grace.

He remembered everything.

"Dean," he half sobbed, feeling the walls he had spent the last several weeks building up around his powerful human emotions begin to crumble. "Dean..."

Dean sighed and pulled the angel into his arms. Fuck whatever Sam might have to say about it – whatever the psychic had pulled from his mind had fucked him up bad, and he wasn't about to just let Cas sit there and suffer.

The fallen angel held onto him like a drowning man, trembling in Dean's arms as he tried to sooth him, fingers carding through his hair as he whispered comforting syllables into his ear.

Sam was sitting with Sara on the couch now, and he caught his little brother's grim smile as he heard the psychic strike a match, her hands trembling as she lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, looking as pale and shaken as Castiel.

He could read Sam like a book, and there was more in that smile than just sympathy.

There was also understanding.

Dean smiled weakly back at his brother, holding Cas just a little tighter as he kissed the top of his angel's head, rubbing small, comforting circles between his shoulders. They might talk later, they might not. For now, it was okay. Cas needed him.

"I remember," Cas rasped, his voice thready and strained. "I remember her."

Dean frowned, the look mirrored on Sam's face.

"Naomi," Castiel stated. "I remember everything."

.

(**A/N:** Have some feels because I love you. Big thanks as usual to Ninjakittee for beta-ing! Next chapter is soon to come :)


	18. Chapter 18

Things were tense after leaving Sara's townhouse.

Castiel had told them about Naomi, about her control over him, how she had sent in a garrison of angels to free him from Purgatory. He told them about her order to kill Samandriel, and about his 'visits' with her in Heaven. He told them that, initially, he had gone along with it as penance for his sins, to atone for the war that he had waged.

What he hadn't told them, however, was what Naomi had made him do in the days that preceded his fall; about the many times he had been forced to kill Dean at her orders, the many times he had done so, no matter how it had hurt, no matter how numb it had made him feel.

And now, he couldn't look at Dean.

He sat at the table in the diner beside the elder Winchester, staring listlessly at nothing, sorting through the memories that the psychic had helped him pull from the depths of his mind. He was aware of Dean watching him from his left, pretending to be interested in the dinner menu.

Castiel couldn't look at Dean, because every time he did he heard Naomi's voice in his mind, ordering him to _kill Dean Winchester_. Every time he heard Dean's voice, he saw Dean, bloody and begging at his feet.

His will was intact, but the pain that the memories brought was immeasurable.

The guilt was even worse. How could he have allowed it to continue, knowing that it was so wrong, so against everything that he felt? Angels weren't supposed to 'feel'. Naomi was breaking him, resetting him to how he was before he had ever laid a hand on Dean Winchester in Hell, honing Castiel into the blade Heaven had meant him to be.

But that wasn't who Cas was anymore. How long had it been since he had, truly, been an angel? Since long before Purgatory, certainly. Since before the souls, before the civil war, before facing Lucifer.

Dean Winchester had instilled something in Castiel at that first touch, when the angel had gripped the Righteous Man and dragged him out of the Pit. He had always been curious by nature, but Dean had planted something in him that had only grown over their time together, inspiring rebellion where there should have been focused indifference. The amount of pure _passion _in the hunter had baffled Castiel, how he invested so much of himself into everyone that he knew and loved.

And when that friendship had been extended to Castiel, just one of Heaven's host, just another soldier in God's army...

Castiel couldn't allow Dean to be harmed because of him.

He would protect Dean Winchester, his charge, his _friend._

Excusing himself to the restroom, Castiel got up from the table and made his way toward the back of the restaurant, slipping out the service door. He felt the guilt welling in his gut as he walked away from the diner, but his decision had been made. He insisted to the small voice in the back of his mind telling him to just go back that it was for the best.

Naomi would have no reason to harm his friends if they did not know where he was.

[XXXXXX]

Dean knew that he was driving too fast without Sam bitching at him about it from the passenger seat. He also knew that the chances of finding Cas, hours after he'd disappeared from the diner, were slim to none. The sun was beginning to climb lazily over the flat, California desert horizon, casting shades of pink and bronze across the mostly featureless, dry land. Stopping wasn't an option, though. Dean would keep looking for his angel until he dropped.

Cas was his responsibility, and he'd fucking failed, _again_.

He should know better by now. Everyone he loved always ended up disappearing on him. Fuck, he'd even lost Sam on occasion, and ever since Purgatory it seemed like they'd never really pulled it together, weren't as close as they used to be.

And now he'd lost Cas, the fallen angel with almost zero social skills who he had promised to protect. The dude who was used to being bullet-proof until a month ago, used to being able to just zap off wherever he wanted to go and smite anything that got in his way. The dude Dean had only just admitted to himself that he loved.

It's like he was fucking cursed.

Dean was so absorbed in his mental self-flagellation, eyes darting to either side of the road, scanning the sidewalks as the Impala barreled down the streets that he didn't see the stationary figure in the black suit in the road ahead of them, watching with passive interest as they speeded toward him.

"Dean, STOP!"

He had almost ignored Sam's objurgation when he spotted it, slamming on the breaks as his heart stuttered in his chest, jerking the wheel to avoid the dipshit standing in the path of the speeding car.

"Fuck!" he swore, gripping the wheel, white knuckled as he lined the car up with the curb, watching the impassive, besuited figure approach them.

Throwing open the driver's side door, he launched himself out of the car, Sam following an instant later as he marched forward to meet their sudden third party, throwing out his hands to shove the statuesque man.

"The fuck, Inias! What the hell was that! I almost ran your ass over!" Dean fumed, all of his pent up frustrations suddenly focused on the angel in front of him. "And where the _hell _have you been, huh?"

Sam shot the angel an apologetic look, silently begging the celestial not to smite his brother.

Inias bore it with dull patience, the irritation in his eyes the only betrayal that he was short on the virtue.

"I need you both to come with me," he said urgently, staring hard at the elder Winchester.

"Yeah?" Dean growled. "Why the fuck should we trust you? How do we know that Naomi bitch isn't pulling your strings, too? Cas remembered, he told us everything."

The impatient look fled the angel's face, glancing between the brothers with a gray expression.

"I have no way of proving my allegiance," he agreed, "but Naomi is soon to be of no concern, if all goes well. More urgently, Castiel has been found, but I cannot reach him. I need your help."

Great. Another fucking Princess Leia. Just what Dean needed.

"Where is he?" Sam asked, his tone imploring and polite. Leave it to Sam to keep it level in the face of a crisis like this. All Dean wanted to do was grab the scrawny angel by the neck and scream at him, demand to know where he's been all this time if he cares so damned much about Cas and why the hell he hadn't shown up sooner when they needed him.

"Not far from here, but we need to hurry," Inias sighed. "I don't know what's being done to him, the place where he is being kept is heavily warded against angels."

"How did you even find us, I thought we were angel-proof?" Dean wasn't going to budge until he had some answers. After everything Cas had told them about Naomi controlling him and possibly pulling the strings on more than a few others, he felt justified being a little paranoid of the angel standing in front of them now, regardless of whether or not he'd been a big fucking help since Cas had fallen into their lives.

Inias sighed, rolling his eyes in a way that Dean now assumed must be angel-genetic or some shit.

"I followed Ramiel, and then I found your vehicle."

"Wait," Sam interjected, "so Ramiel has Cas? Why the hell didn't you do something?"

"You let that bitch take him?" Dean crowded the angel's personal space a little more, fists clenching at his sides. Sure, Inias had pretty much saved Cas' life before, but his fuse was burning short tonight, so he really couldn't be blamed if he ended up breaking his knuckles on the dude's jaw at some point. It was the rational reaction to finding out your angel had been kidnapped by the bad guy and said angel's brother just let it happen and then came to you afterwards to clean up the mess, right?

The angel sighed dramatically. "I was too late. We're wasting time arguing this."

Dean was about to dish out another helping of beratement when Inias reached out without warning, a hand on each of their shoulders, and suddenly they found themselves somewhere else.

[XXXXXX]

Being human was absurdly difficult. It had perhaps been two hours since he had left the diner, and already he was hopelessly lost. It was late, the silver sliver of moon already sinking into the horizon as Castiel walked through the lot of the shopping centre in the vague direction of the sound of traffic.

He already felt foolish for having taken this action, but now he wasn't entirely sure he could make his way back, even if his pride would allow him to. The rationalization that this was the correct course of action wavered against his desire to go back, back to Dean and the comfort of the room and the safety of his friends.

He didn't even recall the name of the motel.

"Castiel!" a sharp, feminine voice called out to him.

Tensing, Castiel stopped in his tracks, feeling the skin crawl up the back of his neck. The voice was familiar to him, and sent a ripple of dread throughout his being. He had been found, it seemed, by Naomi's right hand.

Closing his eyes, he sighed, preparing himself before turning to face Judgement's Shepherd.

She bore the look of madness about her; her chestnut brown hair now loose like a warrior's mane, storm-grey eyes burning into him with intense fury as she stared at him, her lips slightly parted in a wicked smile. Ramiel.

"What has happened to you, sister?" he asked, genuinely concerned. Had Naomi done this? Was Ramiel punished for failing to collect him?

"Still your tongue!" she cried in Enochian, blade falling into her hand. "How _dare _you, Castiel! Do you see now what your actions have done? You are selfish! Vile! Traitor!"

"Ramiel," Castiel said, backing up several steps as he withdrew his blade from his jacket, "I don't wish to fight you. Whatever Naomi believes, she is wrong. The Winchesters are no threat to her, or to Heaven."

"Silence!" Ramiel flew at him, blade ready to tear him asunder.

Castiel allowed his thousands of years of honed instinct to guide him. He was no match to her in strength without his Grace, but perhaps he could equal her in prowess. There is a method to battle, strategies, almost choreographed in elegance. Despite the strength of angels, to fight with a blade was about more fluid grace and guile, less about brute strength and overpowering the enemy.

He prayed that her madness did not sway her finesse.

Castiel measured her thrusts, parrying and evading each strike as it came, praying for an opening that would allow him to connect a non-lethal strike to her Grace. If he could cripple her, wound her Grace enough that he could escape, he would leap at the opportunity. He did not wish to kill Ramiel; he had killed enough of his own kind already.

"Lay down and _die_!" she screamed at him in harsh vowels, lancing out with a speed he could barely perceive, let alone match. It was baffling; he could have at least held his own against her before his fall, but now that he was mortal, he began to appreciate the strength and speed that he had once possessed. He knew that in human terms, he would be all but unmatched in his skill – but against Ramiel, he realised, he stood little chance of surviving.

The Seraph swung wide and the blade connected with his right shoulder, the tip scraping against bone as it tore his flesh – a narrowly avoided blow that would have ended him in an instant had he not thrown himself aside at the last moment. Already he was beginning to tire, and the added pain of the fresh injury, radiating through his shoulder and upper arm, did not bode well for his stamina. In their first confrontation, her attention had been divided between himself and the Winchesters. Now, however, he stood alone, and he began to realize that perhaps he had underestimated how frail the human form truly was.

"Abomination! Unfit to lie amongst _swine_!" The next blow came from her closed fist, knocking him backward, skidding painfully against the rough concrete of the lot.

"Ramiel," he wheezed, struggling to get to his feet, his aching body rebelling against the movement. At this moment, his decision to fall fell into place with the growing list of bad decisions he had made since his rebellion. He missed his Grace terribly, and its absence burned in the face of what was certain to be his end.

"No, Castiel," Ramiel bit out at him, "the Host has lost its patience with you."

Her foot lashed out, connecting with his collar bone, knocking him back onto the pavement and pinning him there.

"It's so simple," she mused, tilting her head to the side as she regarded him, "I would not even have need to pierce your flesh with my blade to destroy you. Just..."

Cas struggled as her foot began to slowly apply more pressure, crushing in against his sternum. He gasped for air that his burning lungs could not draw in, clawing at the foot of the mad angel in a vain effort to throw it off of him. This was it. What a stupid way to die.

"What an absolute waste," a new voice drawled from somewhere behind his attacker.

Ramiel gave pause, but before she could turn there was a sickening _crunch_, and then she was falling to the side, her Grace flaring out of her mouth and eyes as it spasmed in death.

Castiel hastily covered his eyes, biting back a cry of pain as he felt her wing fall across his left leg and burn, flaring in incredible heat as it left nothing but ash on the black top.

When he chanced to move his arm, to set eyes on his saviour, his heart sank.

The figure standing over him now was hardly a silhouette; stocky, broad-shouldered, hands stuffed in his suit pockets, the short coif of his hair lit by a halo of garish light from the lamp overhead. The air suddenly reeked of sulfur.

"Hello, darling," a familiar, unwelcome voice purred in a distinct British accent. "Miss me?"

[XXXXXX]

Dean flipped the fuck out as soon as they touched down in the hard packed dirt outside the barb wire-topped chain-link fence. Dean was not a fan of flying, and Angel Airways was no exception. Popping out of existence in one place and suddenly appearing in another had never set right with him no matter how many times Cas had zapped him around with his mojo, and having some other cloud-faerie do it was just damned upsetting. Not to mention the fact that it left his Baby parked on the side of the road, and he had no fucking clue where they were now.

"Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed, rounding on the increasingly irritated angel. "Rules, man! Fucking boundaries! One, WARN me when you pull that shit and two, don't fucking EVER do that again!"

"You were wasting time arguing," Inias growled, and, woah, okay – so that was a little intimidating, even from the scrawny, weasely angel he'd come to think of as kind of a pansy.

"Where are we?" Sam asked, pulling the angel's attention away from his brother and getting to the point. He wasn't happy about getting teleported without consent either, but finding out what was going on and getting to Cas was more important at the moment than the etiquette of multi-dimensional travel.

"Not far from where we were," Inias explained, pointedly turning his back on Dean in favour of the younger Winchester. "The compound is warded, this is as far as I can go. There are three buildings, I believe Castiel is in the largest, at the center. There are demons guarding the entrance, whereas the other two remain unattended."

"Woah, wait," Dean made the internationally recognized gesture for 'time out'. "_Demons_? I thought you said She-Ra had Cas?"

Inias gave the hunter a puzzled look that Dean automatically translated as '_I don't understand that reference'_.

"You said Ramiel had found him," Sam elaborated on his brother's behalf.

Inias shook his head impatiently, like they were supposed to know this already. "No, Ramiel is dead. When I arrived at the place she had been slain, I found evidence of demons. Sulfur."

"Fuck," Dean swore, pacing a few steps away, then returning, unable to stand in one place as he fretted. "So demons got him? Fucking great. How much you wanna bet they hand-deliver him to Crowley?"

Sam sighed, turning his attention back to Inias. "How many are there? We're not exactly equipped to fight demons, we've only got one weapon between us that can kill 'em."

Inias shuffled his feet uncertainly, then withdrew his own blade, offering it to Sam.

"Seriously?" Dean blurted incredulously, his eyebrows drawn up in surprise.

"There are perhaps a dozen demons. I would fight beside you if I could. Castiel is my brother, and was once the leader of my garrison before..."

"...Before he hauled my ass out of Hell and I fucked everything up," Dean finished, ignoring the look it got from Sam.

Inias shook his head. "Before he discovered free will and brought it home to us," he smiled, seeming almost reverent.

"Thanks, Inias," Sam said as he took the blade, casting a look over at Dean. _This is what we've got, _he communicated silently.

Dean nodded, giving him a half hearted smirk. _Yeah, I know. But I'm not gonna admit you're right._

"Right," Dean sighed, pulling out the demon killing blade from his jacket pocket, "let's storm the castle and save the princess."

If he'd known how much shit he was going to get for the analogy later, Dean might have chosen his words a little more carefully. But for now, the important thing was getting to Cas, and ganking whatever evil son of a bitch had nabbed him in the first place.

[XXXXXX]

Castiel woke in pain.

Every muscle in his body was stiff and sore. He was cold, his shoulder and chest ached miserably, and the air smelled faintly of blood and astringent. Without opening his eyes, he knew that he was seated upright and that his arms and legs were bound to an unyielding surface, his head braced in something cold and metallic that evinced dangerous memories from the haze clouding his mind.

Upon opening his eyes, he felt tendrils of panic working their way through his guts. The room was small and mostly covered in shadow. Light filtered through dirty windows set high upon the red brick wall to his right, and a long metal table covered in implements lay to his left.

"Well, well, well... it would seem that our Benedict Arnold is awake," a voice dripping with smug indifference drifted to him from somewhere outside of his peripheral. He couldn't turn his head to see, but he knew all too well what had happened and who that voice belonged to.

"Crowley," he growled, his throat buzzing harshly at the sound.

The demon sauntered into view, wearing a blood-spattered butcher's apron, stolen angel blade in his hand, eyebrows pulled upward as he stared down at the fallen angel bound before him. "I don't even need this anymore, do I?" he asked, waving the blade in front of Castiel's face.

"What do you want?" Castiel ground out. He would not allow himself to give in to fear, regardless of his current situation. Fear was weakness, and he _was not weak_. Whatever he was now, he had been an angel of the Lord. Despite his human vulnerabilities, his mental faculties were still the same as they were when he'd been in possession of his Grace.

His conviction, however, did not ease the coppery taste in the back of his throat, nor did it quell the quake in his spine as the King of Hell began sorting through the collection of crude devices littered across the table. He tried not to watch as Crowley picked up a scissor-like implement with blunt, opposed tips, snapping it open and closed a few times before nodding his approval of it.

"Well," the demon shrugged, "what I want is pretty obvious if your little walnut-sized brain could wrap itself around a course of logic long enough."

"The tablet," Castiel ground out. "If you believe that I would tell you where it is..."

"No? Didn't think so," Crowley interrupted. "No big, though, as they say. I've got friends in high places. And, you see," the demon turned to face the fallen angel, eyebrows arched high, a delighted smirk resting on his lips, "this is more about _revenge,_ in any case. Though, perhaps I'll cut you some slack if you spill the beans and tell me where the prophet and that little chunk of rock of his sodded off to."

Castiel's blood ran cold, though he willed himself to remain steadfast and show no reaction to the threat. The King of Hell held a grudge against him for his betrayal after going back on their deal to open Purgatory, and he had somewhat anticipated that if the demon had ever got his hands on him he would suffer the consequences, though he hadn't given it much concern.

An insurmountable time later, however, his resolve to remain stoic untenable as the demon sliced, flayed and shattered him, his reticence giving way to screams of agony that reverberated off the walls of the tall, narrow room, it was all too pressing.

.

(**A/N: **So much for the honeymoon... bring on the whump! Muchos gracias to my betamax Ninjakittee... much love!)


	19. Chapter 19

A soft, ethereal haze hung over the curve of the Earth, glowing white-hot as the sun rose to meet the horizon between the elliptical sphere of the planet and the vast, inky expanse of space.

He so rarely took flight just for the simple joy of doing so, delighting in the cool air of the thin atmosphere as he bathed in the light of the newly born day. Time, compass directions – they had no meaning here, high above the continents and seas and cities and streets of human design. He loved it all; the chaos and the sheer beauty of it.

Pulling his wings in close, plummeted toward the azure expanse of the Mediterranean, unfurling them wide moments before impact and reveling in the pure rush, the warm, salty spray of the ocean clinging to his feathers.

He caught a headwind above the Baltic Strait, spreading primaries to reduce drag and letting himself glide, briny air tickling coverts as he closed his eyes, drinking in the endless blue above and below.

"_Cas_," a voice called out to him, praying to him. "_Wakey-wakey..._"

Castiel frowned as the blue sky began to fade, and with the darkness that enveloped him suddenly came discomfort and pain.

A jolt of energy brushed against his shoulder, buzzing through him, flowing beneath his skin in an endless current.

He cried out through clenched teeth, fingers clutching uselessly at the wooden arms of the chair, clawing jagged and bloody nails into the course, splintered grain.

"There you are, princess," the demon purred above him, snapping the trigger of the cattle prod twice in rapid succession to keep the fallen angel's attention. "Thought you'd checked out early. Can't have that."

Castiel panted to catch his breath, the demon's words coming to him down a long corridor. He strained to focus, his right eye swollen shut, sinuses trickling blood from his broken nose. His skin felt as though it had been set ablaze, crackling in the heat. None of it compared to the dull ache that radiated from his shoulder, or the bone-deep agony in his left foot.

He didn't recall what had happened to his leg. Crowley had visited upon him pain after pain unlike he had ever felt in his long existence; human pain, acute and constant.

He had felt pain before, though the pain familiar to him – injuries to his Grace, or felt through his human vessel – were dull, muted through his angelic senses.

Crowley's every touch was punishment exceeding even what he had experienced at Naomi's hands, when he had been subjected to Heaven's re-education. He felt like a raw nerve, slick with his own blood and sweat and shivering with the anticipation of each new torment that somehow managed to be worse than he expected.

His mind reeled, the words he had prepared slipping away along the outskirts of his consciousness. His throat buzzed hoarsely, sounds come out, but he doesn't recall what he'd said.

It must have been something witty, or foolish perhaps, because the demon laughed.

"I have to admit, this is far less gratifying than I'd hoped," Crowley mused to the broken and bloodied former-angel. "And to think you'd once called yourself God..."

Syllables buzzed between Castiel's lips, harsh and incoherent.

"What was that? Didn't quite catch it."

Castiel licked his lips, his tongue heavy and dry in the desert of his mouth. "... Mistake," he murmured, letting his eyes slip closed.

"A mistake?" the demon tutted, "And the understatement of the year award goes to the backstabbing parakeet."

"My mistake..." Cas ground out, every word a struggle, "was agreeing... to work with you..."

"Probably," Crowley agreed, setting the cattle prod aside in favour of a circular blade with a perforated edge. "Never should trust a demon."

With a bright, cheery smile, the King of Hell set back to work on his adversary.

[XXXXXX]

About a dozen. That's how many demons Inias had said would be in the compound, guarding the central building where Cas was supposed to be.

They'd already ganked, like, ten of the black eyed sons of bitches and they were maybe halfway to their destination.

A dozen. Apparently, angels were mathematically challenged.

They were in sight of the building now; a tall, red brick structure with a green roof, two smaller, similar structures set on either side, mostly obscured by trees.

It looked to Dean like an old abandoned park station, overgrown now with sumac and vines. The brick was crumbling in more than a few places, the heavy steel door mostly rusted over, brittle with age and lack of care.

The most notable feature of the structure, however, was the peculiar graffiti that covered it in white paint; sigils, wards and charms painstakingly stenciled onto the brick, warding out pretty much every supernatural creature one could think of short of demons.

Oh, and there were demons, of course.

Sam stood at Dean's back, grabbing one of the foot soldiers by the hair and pulling him forward into the blade that Inias had lent him for the rescue mission. The demon flailed, not expecting to be drawn into the attack, it's essence flaring with a shriek of pain and surprise. There seemed to be no shortage, however, as another rushed in to fill the space, grabbing the younger hunter by his long hair and aiming a knee into the human's groin.

Dean swung around with the demon blade, plunging it into the fucker's back between his shoulder blades and rewarded with an arm flung into his chest, knocking him back a few feet. The blade went with him, tearing through muscle and bone as it pulled free from the demon's spine, ending it in a flash of crimson.

The third demon dropped in on them from the branches of the tree over their heads, landing on Sam's back and dragging him to the ground, wrestling the angel blade away from the taller man and pointing the tip at the hollow of Sam's throat.

Dean froze, eyes locked with his brother's for a moment before shifting to the demon, grinning at him over Sam's shoulder.

"King wants a word with you two," the demon hissed. Dean mentally sized up the situation; the demon was possessing a woman in her mid-twenties, slight, muscular build, tall. Her shirt was torn and bloody, probably long dead as the demon rode her skin.

What she didn't seem was very confident with the blade in her hand; the hold was clumsy, held between her thumb and first three fingers in a loose grip. It was a versatile hold, when done correctly, but Dean judged that the bitch had probably never been in a proper knife fight before.

Sam read this in his brother's eyes, grabbing the demon's wrist and shifting his weight forward, drawing the demon forward in a judo-throw and slamming her supine into the hard Earth.

Dean dove forward, following up the tandem move with a blow to the demon's heart, courtesy of the demon blade. He accepted Sam's hand when it was offered, pulling himself up quickly and scanning their surroundings quickly, eyes darting between the trees and overhead, knees bent, poised to plunge his blade into another heart, cut another throat, eviscerate another body.

He felt a rush in his veins that he hadn't felt since Purgatory; the sky was still coming to light, casting an odd luminescence through the green foliage overhead; an eerie glow that somehow lent a non-colour to the scene. He was lucid, ready to strike at anything that approached him, and at the same time acutely aware of his hunting partner at his side, taking into account his location at all times, ears pricked for the familiar sounds of his breathing, his movements.

Dean was on fire, feral and primal, veins pumping acid, sinew stretched taut, tense and ready for more action – eager for it. He'd cut through any of these motherfuckers that got in the way of him finding his angel. He'd keep going as long as it took. He'd get them out, or die trying.

"Think that was the last of them?" Sam asked, somewhat breathlessly. He noticed the look on Dean's face – a grin that was almost a grimace of pain, all teeth and wide eyes - and it was somewhat unsettling.

The elder Winchester seemed to shake out of it at the sound of his brother's voice, however – bringing himself back to the moment. They needed to find a way inside, get to Cas, and hopefully get all of them out in one piece.

"Doubt it," Dean shrugged, wiping the blade off on the jeans of the dead demon in front of him and moving forward. "We never get that lucky. When it rains, it fuckin' pours."

Sam sighed, recovering the angel blade from where it fell at his feet and following. Sometimes he forgot how fucking scary Dean could get when he had his mind set to the mission, all business and action. It had been worse since Purgatory, worse even than his short fuse since returning from Hell. He worried for Dean, but at the same time he was thankful for that hard edge – a focused Dean was a Dean who could claw his way through granite to achieve his goals.

It still didn't mean Sam had to like that side of his brother.

They circled the building once, but it seemed like the rusted door at the front was the only viable entrance. All of the windows were set too high to climb through, and the roll-up door on the East side of the building was dented in, courtesy of the old truck skeleton that had become one with it.

"Trap?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow at the door.

"Probably," Dean confirmed. "Probably a dozen more of these assholes just waiting to get the jump on us."

Sam nodded, then drew a breath and kicked out at the rusted, knobless door, sending it careening off the whitewashed stone wall of the darkened hallway beyond.

Both Winchesters tensed, waiting for a flood of black eyes to come rushing out at them... but none came. Exchanging an uneasy look, they pulled their flashlights out of their pockets and entered cautiously.

They hadn't taken more than a half dozen steps before a blood-curdling scream of pain ripped through hallway toward them, prompting the hunters to pick up their pace.

[XXXXXX]

Castiel screamed as he felt the nail of his right pinkie finger pull loose from the soft tissue, clenched between the pincer-like grip of the pliers in the demon's hand. Conscious thought was lost to him; there was nothing but pain and more pain. It took all of his will not to simply beg for death. He was slipping, but he was not yet that far gone. He wasn't that weak.

His thoughts wandered between each sharp spike of agony, drifting through the landscape of his memories – bittersweet and cherished. Sitting at the table, drinking with Ellen Harvelle, hunting with the Winchesters, watching children play in a park on a warm day, standing at the edge of the ocean with his brothers, Dean. Anything to escape the stretched eternity of torture that he found himself in now.

Always, inevitably, he was brought back by the next round.

"Well," Crowley rumbled as he tossed the tool aside, wiping his hands on a bloody towel, "this is all well and fun, but I'm feeling generous. Tell me where the prophet is, and let's take a little break, shall we?"

Castiel turned his good eye up toward the King of Hell, glaring with as much venom as he could muster. He would not betray the prophet, or the Winchesters, for that matter – because it amounted to the same. He had betrayed too many in his brief time on Earth, and he would die before doing so again. The gates of Hell would close.

"Is that a no?" Crowley sighed, picking up the cattle prod again. "Shame. No skin off my back. Though, perhaps a bit off yours..."

Castiel clenched his teeth hard enough to hurt, bracing himself for a jolt from the taser.

Instead, there was a shout from somewhere behind him, muffled through the walls.

"Looks like your howler monkeys are ahead of schedule," Crowley mused, cocking an eyebrow down at the fallen angel.

A curious sensation washed through Castiel at the demon's statement, welling both hope and dread within him. Could it be that Dean and Sam had found him? It seemed almost too much to hope for, and as the sounds of fighting continued beyond the walls of the room he and the demon occupied, his hope soured and turned to shame.

It was his own foolish decision to leave the Winchesters that had landed him here. It was because of him that they were now fighting. Fighting for him, because he had been too weak to handle his own problems, had made too many enemies to hold his own against them in his new mortal condition.

A door slammed open, the sound of metal crashing into stone echoing harshly throughout the room, rattling the old, grime-covered windows in their frames.

"Crowley," Dean's voice growled after a moment of heavy silence, "you son of a bitch, let Cas go!"

"Moose and Squirrel to the rescue," the demon lilted. "I'm afraid I can't do that. Me and Fido here have unfinished business."

Dean pulled his Colt 1911 from the waistband of his jeans, leveling it at the demon's head, jaw set, just waiting for the demon to give him a reason to pull the trigger.

Crowley sighed, giving Dean an exasperated look, pointedly eyeing the gun. "Really? Come on now, you're smarter than that."

"Cas, you all right?" Dean asked, his eyes never leaving the demon.

Castiel mumbled something that sounded vaguely affirmative. He honestly had no idea if he was or not, but he certainly did not feel all right.

Crowley sighed, tapping the business end of the cattle prod against the fallen angel's leg and squeezing the trigger. The angel let out a hoarse cry of pain, arching against the wooden chair, causing Dean to grind his teeth hard enough to creak as he resisted the urge to surge forward and strike, regardless of the consequences.

"Yep," the demon confirmed, "he's still ticking. I suggest if you'd like him to keep ticking, well. Perhaps we can work something out."

Dean wasn't sure where the advantage lay at the moment, but he was definitely sure he wasn't buying what Crowley was selling. The demon seemed to be armed only with the cattle prod, but the smarmy bastard always seemed to have an ace up his sleeve.

"You let me in on where you're keeping that adorable little prophet of yours," Crowley paused, glancing between the two hunters, "and maybe I'll leave your pet angel in big enough pieces for you to put back together after I've finished with him."

.

(**A/N: **Aah, the suspense! Not to worry, though- the next chapter _will _be up soon, I promise! I've already finished the story. That's right! It's coming to an end :( Not to worry, though. Just because it's ended doesn't mean it's finished ;) There are two more chapters of this 'episode' to come, and soon after I'll be starting the next one. Love and hugs to Ninjakittee for betaing! You're wonderful, darling. You turn my C- writing into A+ material ;)


	20. Chapter 20

Two men and a demon faced each other in the dimly lit, brick walled room. The only sound for some time was the irregular, hitching breath of the fallen angel between them, strapped into the heavy wooden chair. Dean couldn't see much of the angel from where he stood, but what he could see was torn up and bloody. When Cas had spoken, it had eased his nerves to a degree, but he had sounded so tired and broken it was all Dean could do to keep his cool in the face of a volatile situation.

Crowley watched them, the cattle prod still held loose in his right hand, hovering over Castiel with the threat that if the brothers took too long to answer, it would inevitably be used again and again until the King of Hell received the answer he wanted.

Dean's resolve wavered as he weighed their options. It was either give up the tablet in exchange for Cas, live to fight another day - or try to overpower the most powerful demon in Hell with two knives and a useless gun. They'd beat worse odds before, but with Cas in the equation, at Crowley's mercy, he wasn't sure if he wanted to take the chance.

Losing the tablet couldn't be the worst thing to happen.

Dean felt Sam's hand touch lightly to the back of his arm, a simple gesture - but it grounded him, reminded him that there was more to this, and that damn it, they were Winchesters. Winchesters didn't bargain with hell scum (... well, except for when they did, but those were special circumstances. They didn't count). They weren't going to give an inch if they could get away with it.

"I got a better idea," Dean responded defiantly to the demon's suggestion, "How about you go screw yourself, we take Cas alive and I don't turn you into a Picasso."

He was just livid enough to do it. To hell with five years of shutting out the memories of Hell, of reigning himself in from going too far. He had reveled in that ruthlessness in Purgatory, had let himself go with it. This wasn't Purgatory, but this son of a bitch was more than worth loosening his moral code over. The demon had Cas. Had _hurt _Cas. Had threatened to take Cas away from him. Dean only cared about two things right now; mutilating this motherfucker and getting his angel out alive.

"I'm not really liking your terms," Crowley shrugged. "You see, you're not entirely in a position to be making demands. In case you forgot, I have a hostage - something you so _obviously _want. Looks like we're back at square one."

"Dean," Sam murmured, and really that was all he had to say. One syllable, the slight shift in his brother's stance, a flicker of hazel eyes, and it was understood; it was a plan.

Dean didn't need to be given any further prompting. He dropped the gun as he drew the knife, lunging to the right as Sam wove left, flanking the demon.

For once, it seemed as though the element of surprise was on their side, but Crowley was still quicker, disappearing into thin air as Dean raised the demon blade to strike, swinging through the recently vacated space as the cattle prod clattered to the floor.

The brothers stood there, back to back in front of the fallen angel, waiting for the counter-strike - but it never came.

Strange. Crowley was a sneak and a con man, but he wasn't coward enough to take off running with his tail between his legs, especially when he had leverage. Leverage like a certain wounded fallen angel.

"Sammy," Dean said, eyes warily raking over the room, trying to watch every corner all at once, "get Cas outta that chair, we're leaving."

Sam nodded, using his pocket knife to cut through the leather bonds that held the fallen angel in place, undoing straps and buckles where convenient. When the straps across Castiel's chest were loosed, the angel slumped in his seat, seeming unable keep himself sitting upright.

Snapping the knife shut and returning it to his pocket, the younger Winchester drew his borrowed blade and slipped an arm beneath the fallen angel's shoulder, hauling him upright with a whimper of pain from the shorter man as he put weight on his left leg.

Castiel was barely conscious of all of this happening. He knew that Dean was there, but so was Crowley. Crowley could hurt Dean, and it would be his fault. And now there was pain, and he was being moved; no longer secured to the chair but the pain was still there and who was holding him? He glanced toward the solid mass that he found himself leaning against, and was met by a shoulder clad in red plaid. Sam. Of course, if Dean was here, Sam would be here too.

He felt light-headed. Perhaps the Winchesters wouldn't be too upset with him if he closed his eyes and rested for a bit.

"Cas, hey hey... come on, man... we need to go," Sam's voice cajoled him. Cas didn't feel like going anywhere just now; he was cold and everything hurt and he was just so tired, now that Crowley wasn't tormenting him. What had happened to Crowley, anyway?

Dean stayed at Sam's back as they shuffled out of the room, watchful for any sign of the demon's return. They hadn't done a complete search of the building, and it was possible that there were still a handful of Crowley's minions lingering about in the shadows, but that was just a risk they were going to have to take. Dean hadn't indulged himself to look at Cas yet, but by the way the angel was murmuring under his breath (and Dean was pretty sure that he wasn't even speaking English at this point) and the scrape-tap of his foot falls as he was half dragged by his gargantuan little brother, he could pretty much assume that Cas was in poor shape after upwards of twelve hours getting sliced and prodded by the King of Hell.

Somehow, they were suddenly out in broad daylight; the sun having climbed higher in the sky since they'd gone into the park station, casting near solid rays of light in stark contrast with the deep shadows of the trees.

They still had about a hundred yards back to the fence where Inias was supposed to meet them. A hundred yards in the open, where anything could get the drop on them.

Dean kept watch over his brother and his angel's back, but the openness grated on him. Never leave an opening; it's a good way to get yourself killed.

By some miracle that seemed to go against the laws of everything Dean knew about the universe in relation to being a Winchester, they made it back to the fence, slipping carefully through the hole to the other side.

Inias was nowhere to be seen.

"Shit," Sam breathed, "where did he-"

"Feathery bastard better not have double crossed us," Dean growled, too wound-up and more than ready to sink his blade into the angel's face for taking off on them, if only to relieve some of the tension.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than they heard the distinct rustle of wings; Inias appeared several feet away, looking rumpled and a little bloody, suit jacket gone - and a second angel that Dean didn't recall ever seeing before. She was a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length, wavy brown hair in a similar black suit, honey coloured eyes latching onto the hunters and the fallen angel warily, blade bloodied and held ready in her hand.

"Are these the humans?" the female angel asked, gazing askance at her companion. Dean and Sam instinctively tensed to go on the defensive, Sam gripping the angelic blade a little tighter in his fist as he held onto Castiel. If the woman was one of Naomi's loyalists, they weren't about to give Cas up without a fight.

"Yes," Inias confirmed, "they are Sam and Dean Winchester. They've rescued Castiel."

The woman nodded, putting the blade away as she approached Sam and Castiel, seeming unconcerned with Dean's presence at the moment.

Sam tensed, glancing at his brother as the angel came within reach, silently questioning what he should do. _Trust her, or fight?_

"It's all right," Inias put in. "Sariel is against the regime, she came to assist me when I was ambushed. There were... rather more demons than I had anticipated."

"You don't say," Dean drawled, giving the angel a blank look. "Crowley poofed out on us, by the way. Thinking maybe we oughtta, I dunno, move out?"

Sariel shook her head, placing a hand on Castiel's face in a tender, motherly gesture - the fallen angel's wounds vanishing as he visibly relaxed, slumping boneless against the younger Winchester. "Crowley has departed," she informed them tonelessly. "We are safe here, for now."

Dean frowned, tucking the knife into his jacket pocket as he moved to Sam and Castiel, taking the fallen angel's face in his hands as he came back around, eyes fluttering as he drifted toward full consciousness.

"Dean?" he questioned, looking disoriented and slightly uncomfortable as he pulled away from Sam's bracing grasp.

Dean smiled, letting out a sigh of relief as he pulled his angel into his arms, hugging him tightly as though he might disappear again.

"Shit, Cas," Dean murmured into the angel's ear, "thought you were gone after you disappeared from the restaurant..."

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas mumbled back, hesitantly putting his arms around the hunter, hugging him back. It felt good to have Dean there again, safe and secure. He felt his shame well up again as the hunter pulled back, clapping him on the arm with a relieved smile.

"What're you sorry for? It's Crowley who's gonna be sorry," Dean growled. "I'm gonna tear that asshat a new one when we find him."

Cas looked away, uncertain if he should tell Dean that he was the cause of his own misfortune. "Dean," he began, searching for the right words. "I'm sorry. I should not have left the diner."

Dean stared at the fallen angel, speechless, because... what the fuck? "Wait, you _ran away?_"

Castiel kept his eyes cast downward, refusing to meet the other man's eyes.

"Cas," Sam cut in before his brother could start raving at the fallen angel, "why? You knew we'd look out for you, no matter what, right? You're family, we don't just turn our backs on each other."

Castiel sighed, hanging his head under the weight of his shame. Of course he knew it had been foolish, desperate even. "If you did not know my whereabouts, Naomi would have no reason to involve herself with you."

Cas was not expecting the sudden blow he received, knocking him back on his ass into the dirt as he gaped up at a now-restrained Dean, his fingers lightly touching his jaw as he stared up into the Dean's angry, burning green eyes as the hunter loomed like a thunder cloud, despite his arms being held by both Sam and Sariel.

"Cas you stupid son of a bitch!" he shouted at the man sprawled on the ground. "After everything, after what you said and I said the other night, you still fucking run out on us, for what - some self-martyring bullshit?!"

Dean jerked his arm away from his brother, trying to do the same with the arm held by the angel and failing as he tried to take a step forward.

"Why?" Dean continued, relenting to Sariel's unbreakable hold. "Why take off when you _knew _I'd watch your back? That Sammy'd watch your back? You can't keep sacrificing yourself for us, Cas! You're not a fucking angel anymore!"

"I _know _that, Dean!" Castiel seethed up at the other man, drawing himself up to his feet, feeling suddenly rather irritated at having this conversation in front of an audience. "I thought it wise at the time, I made a mistake. I-"

Dean glared at him, finally pulling his arm free and squaring his shoulders, waiting for Castiel's genius response. "You what, Cas? Thought we'd be better off without you? That we wouldn't _fight for you_? Because you know that's bullshit."

"I left to protect you, Dean," the fallen angel said, and then, lowering his voice, barely murmuring, "because I love you..."

Dean felt the wind go out of his sails, his brain trying desperately not to short circuit as he processed what Cas had said and, yeah. Okay, so he loved Cas too, but hearing it was totally different, set his guts to twisting in knots as the blood rushed to his feet, threatening to make him pass out. It still didn't excuse that Cas had run off on them, but at the moment he no longer felt like pressing the issue.

He glanced aside at Sam, hoping desperately that his little brother hadn't overheard what Cas had said - but Sam was right there, watching him with sympathetic eyes underscored with a note of warning. _Don't fuck this up, man,_ the look said, and yeah. Dean got it. Sam knew. He'd suspected as much the day before, at the psychic's place, but still neither one of them had mentioned it.

Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger before folding his arms across his chest. "You scare the shit out of me some times, you know that, Cas?"

Castiel scowled, giving the hunter a look that tried to be both confused and angry at the same time.

Dean shook his head and smiled, then turned toward the two angels who watched them anxiously from the side as he slung an arm over Castiel's shoulders, pulling him into a loose side-hug.

"Can we get the hell out of here now, please?"

Inias nodded, stepping toward the trio. "I'll return you to your vehicle," he said as he placed his hands on Dean and Castiel's shoulders, Sariel reaching out for Sam as they all disappeared.

[XXXXXX]

Later that afternoon, back at the motel, Sam and Dean sat at the dinette table, sharing a six-pack as Castiel slept off the more lasting effects of his long night in Crowley's custody. His physical wounds had been healed, but Dean suspected that the psychological scars would be fuel for the ex-angel's nightmares for some time.

The rest of the morning had been spent with Inias and Sariel explaining what had gone on in Heaven over the last month; apparently, Castiel's swan dive had been a pretty fucking huge deal up in Cloud City, and Cas had more friends up there than he'd realised. Sure, most of them had been nameless grunts, but it had apparently been enough to ignite a second civil war between the angels, and enough to sway the odds in their favour, overthrowing whatever it was Naomi had done while she'd been in charge.

As for the mysterious angel herself, Naomi had disappeared shortly after the fighting broke out in earnest and had yet to be located. Sariel assured them that she would be found and held accountable for her crimes.

Both angels had talked about Cas like he was some kind of hero who had sacrificed himself to save a school bus full of kids and puppies.

"Well," Castiel sighed, his tone sheepish, "in a way I did sacrifice myself. Angels are eternal. My actions were made in a moment of cowardice. By falling, I have only ensured my own death, albeit at a mortal pace."

Dean felt like decking him again. Cas had pretty much admitted that he'd committed suicide, in a way, and that just wasn't fucking okay with Dean.

"Hey, you never know - maybe you'll get your mojo back, like you did after we kicked Lucifer's ass," Dean suggested, frowning when Castiel only smiled, shaking his head.

"It doesn't work that way, Dean," Cas said. "I wasn't cut off, as I was during the Apocalypse. I still had a... a flicker of Grace, then. It's gone now, completely burned away when I fell. I am no longer an angel, nor will I ever be again."

Dean sighed, nodding solemnly. "Well, I guess that means you're stuck with us, then," he smirked, shoving all the sadness and guilt into a neat little box in the pit of his soul, packing it away with the rest of the crap he just _did not think about, talk about or worry about, EVER_.

Then, disregarding the fact that his brother was sitting right there watching from across the table, Dean leaned over and kissed his angel briefly on the corner of his mouth, catching Sam gaping like a fish out of the corner of his eye as he pulled back, ruffling the angel's hair and grinning at Cas's startled expression.

"Uh," Sam stuttered, "do I need to get my own room tonight?"

Dean smirked at his brother and shook his head. "Nah, I'm beat. Tomorrow, maybe..."

Sam's face turned red as he cleared his throat, turning his attention back to the computer screen. Honestly he was glad that Dean had gotten over his freak out and worked through his feelings for the fallen angel, but he totally wasn't into putting up with any PDA from the two of them - not that Dean was really the type, and Cas was too reserved for Sam to see him acting like some gushy teenager. He was happy for them, just... some things were better left unseen.

They still had no lead on Naomi, and even the angels had no idea where she could have disappeared to. It was too much to hope that she might have vanished completely, and Inias and Sariel both warned that she and her followers - an estimated five in all - could very well still be out there, working out the next step in whatever plans to regain control upstairs. It was an unspoken understanding that Castiel was likely still a target in her eyes, as he had been the one to start the upheaval anew by running away.

For now, however, until Naomi or the King of Hell reared up again, it seemed like it was back to business as usual; saving people, hunting things - the family business - now plus one fallen angel.

.

(**A/N: **This is it; the last chapter before the epilogue. It feels like this has been here for ages, kinda sad to see it finally done :( I hope you've all enjoyed! I'll post the epilogue in a day or two :) and like I said last chapter, keep an eye out for the sequel ;) I'll probably post something to it here as an alert. Bigbigbigbigbig thanks again to NInjakittee for all of her awesome beta work! You get equal shares of awesome sauce, sweetheart ;)


	21. Chapter 21

It had been a pretty decent case, all in all. No one died, or ended up in the hospital, and the ghost that had terrorized the Hill County Library in Hillsboro, Texas had been dispatched with no unforeseen complications. It had been three months since California, and things seemed to be getting back into the normal routine, for the most part.

Cas was getting better and better at hunting with each case they took, and aside from a couple of close calls, had managed not to get himself mangled so far. Dean was surprised that the fallen angel had picked up shooting so quickly (though he hated to admit that it had been Sam who taught him in the end, after several failed attempts by Dean which ended in the elder Winchester storming off in frustration at the angel's first few tries), and his ready knowledge of lore and general monster trivia more than came in handy, cutting down research time exponentially on several occasions.

Inias still dropped in on them from time to time, or called to check in over the phone with Cas on the latest news from upstairs. Things seemed to be quiet in Heaven still, from what Cas relayed of their conversations, but there was still no sign of Naomi or the five angels who disappeared when she had been run out the Pearly Gates. Inias seemed more adept at technology than Castiel had when first introduced to cell phones, but still seemed to prefer direct interaction over talking long-distance over the wire, but at least he didn't have Cas's bad habit of bamfing in unnanounced. He was inconsistent, as far as angelic back up was concerned, but whenever it involved Cas, he usually dropped what he was doing at the time to zap himself to wherever they were. If it wasn't for the fact that Cas seemed to be irritated by the gawky angel on occasion, Dean might have been a little jealous. As it was, they seemed more like brothers than Dean had seen of Castiel's interactions with any other angels they'd met in the past, apart from maybe Alfie.

He wasn't as social as Cas (which was really saying something, considering that even after four months of constant immersion in la vida Winchester, he was still just about as awkward as ever), but Dean decided that he liked the guy all right. Sariel he could take or leave, but they didn't see too much of her after storming the castle, in any case.

Things were quiet on the demon front, as well, which was fairly suspicious. They'd run across two demon cases in the last few months, both of them cut and dry, dumb as bricks and utterly ignorant of Crowley's movements; rogue demons with their own agendas seemingly unrelated to Hell.

Dean suspected that Crowley was simply waiting for the most inconvenient moment to strike, like the dramatic bastard that he was, but at when he did show his ugly mug again, they'd be prepared. It rankled his nerves that the demon had simply taken off without a fuss after they'd rescued Cas from the park station in Redding; Crowley almost always had a backup plan. The fact that they'd walked out unmolested, well, none of them were taking it for granted. They knew they'd have to walk carefully until it came to a head.

Getting back to the motel after finishing the Hill County job (Dean still hadn't taken Sam up on his offer to get separate rooms, still hadn't gone any further than some pretty epic make-out sessions with Cas because, well, shit. Some things just took a while to get over, okay?), the three fought their way to the bathroom, all eager to shower off and collapse after the simple yet still physically taxing hunt. Dean won in the end, much to Sam's disappointment (he'd been the one who'd had to dig up the grave this time and damn it he deserved it). Castiel simply leaned in to the door and said, as stoic as ever "You know, we could save water and shorten the time taken if we were to share..."

Sam choked on the beer he'd just opened, staring in horror at the fallen angel. "The offer still stands if you want your own room, guys," he said, loud enough for Dean to hear him in the shower.

This was what they'd become; a team of three rather than of two, and they worked well together - supported each other under all the teasing and heckling that was second nature to the brothers.

As for Cas, he was beginning to understand some of their references.

[XXXXXX]

"So, get this," Sam began, hovering over his computer the following morning as they ate breakfast at the cafe, "a man in Beaverton, Oregon was killed after being mauled by angry beavers last night. Friends claim that Don Fuller was thrown out of a sports bar after being accused of harassing a pair of female patrons who he learned were lesbians after attempting to pick up one of the women. Sources say the native wild animals _swarmed__ the parking lot, _overwhelming Fuller while ignoring two friends who were with the victim at the time of the attack."

Dean stopped, staring at his brother as he choked down a mouth full of french toast. "_Angry beavers?" _he asked incredulously, hoping to God or whoever that he'd heard wrong.

"It could be fairies," Cas supplied conversationally, drowning his own plate in maple syrup. The fallen angel had developed a taste for sweets that rivaled the Trickster in the last few months. Not that Dean thought that was entirely a bad thing, since one of the paramount confection Cas seemed to enjoy was pie.

"Or a Pagan god," Sam offered back, raising an eyebrow at his companions. "Garth seems to think it could be something, and ... I have to admit, that's a pretty crazy way to go."

"Angry beavers," Dean said again, wondering why no one else seemed to get why that was so fucking hilarious.

Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring his _older _brother's inherent childishness. "So, do we go check it out?"

Dean shrugged, stuffing another bite of toast in his face. "I guess," he mumbled through a mouth full of grilled bread and syrup, "we got anythin' better goin' on?"

Castiel nodded, cutting his toast into thin slivers before gingerly picking up his fork. Talk about a study in contrasts, Sam thought as he observed his companions, waiting for the verdict on whether or not to take the case.

"Death by angry beaver, after acting like a dick to a couple of lesbians, in _Beaverton,_" Dean mused, "talk about freakin' poetic justice..."

Sam rose an eyebrow, seeming to take the observation into consideration. "Or 'just desserts'," he said after a moment.

Dean seemed to miss the implication, however, as he batted Castiel's hand away from the sugar packets after the sixth one had been dumped into his coffee cup. "Chrissakes, Cas, you're gonna give yourself freakin' diabetes," he grumbled, ignoring the angel's acidic glare. "Anyway, yeah. Why the hell not? We'll hit the highway after breakfast."

When they'd finished, paid and left the cafe, Sam and Cas fell into their usual routine of trying to best each other for the front seat, Dean of course insisting on driving the first leg of the trip.

They all fell into their places, Castiel sulking in the back seat as Sam slid into the front, looking smug and self-satisfied as he stretched out his long legs with an exaggerated sigh of contentment, and duly got onto the highway heading toward Oregon.

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(**A/N**: dun dun dun! Any speculations on what awaits them in Oregon? :) Anyway, it might be a bit before I get rolling on the next part- I'm moving in a week, so there's probably going to be a little bit of a hiatus, unless I find the time and inspiration to muscle through part two. It won't be terribly long, however, so keep an eye out ;) Thank you all so much for reading my story and for all of your wonderful reviews! I'll look forward to seeing you all in the next episode :)


	22. Part 2 update!

Salutations! It's been a while, yeah?

As promised, here is the link for part 2! Also, if you're looking for more squishy Dean/Cas moments, check out Stillframes for more 'moments'.

s/9356174/1/Road-to-Nowhere


End file.
